


Minimal Loss (What A Joke)

by eden22



Series: Minimal Loss [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, Episode: s04e03 Minimal Loss, Gen, Pre-Season/Series 01, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, but just for the criminal minds crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: Reid and Prentiss go undercover to enter a survivalist cult in Durango, Colorado to assess allegations of child abuse. Things go to hell when the state police attempt a raid that goes horribly awry, and the two agents end up being held hostage by the group. While Prentiss undergoes a bizarre interrogation by a man named John, Reid meets the children living with the cult, including two boys named Sam and Dean.
Series: Minimal Loss [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918786
Comments: 11
Kudos: 289





	Minimal Loss (What A Joke)

**Author's Note:**

> I first wrote the outline for this fic in 2014, and here I am, six years later, finally writing it. A huge thank you to Britt for not only beta'ing this fic but also for convincing me that yes, I absolutely should get back into writing Supernatural fic in the year of our lord 2020. Hope you enjoy!

_Yeah I’d like to call to report… well, I don’t really know what I’m reporting, but the neighbors, that like, survivalist group next door? My boy was talking to one of their kids, little slip of a girl, can’t be more than eight, and she scared the holy hell out of him, talking about killing demons and monsters and how to use a rifle._

_She threatened him?_

_She told him that if he wasn’t careful something horrible would slip into his room at night and tear him apart._

The recording clicked off mid-word, cutting off the dispatcher’s next question just as the car rolled over another bump in the road, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them as they sped down the narrow, unpaved laneway, empty fields flying past them on either side. 

“The caller told the police that the girl corrected his teenage son on how he was holding his gun, and told him that, if he wanted, she could show him to shoot better,” Prentiss said, keeping her eyes on the road and trying not to flinch when a stone flew up and hit the windshield.

“Ok,” Reid said, flipping through the folder on his lap as Prentiss slowed the car to take them around a bend in the road. “But that’s not too weird, right? Out here in the country, it's not unusual for kids to learn how to hunt pretty young. And developmentally, eight year-olds believing in monsters is well within the norm.” 

“She told him that her daddy had a whole room full of guns and that he used them to enact God’s will.” 

“Ah,” Reid said. He flipped to another page in the report. “It looks like they’re a very insular group, according to all the agencies they’ve ever had contact with,” he said. “No active investigations open on them from either state or other federal agencies?”

“No,” Prentiss said, “JJ called around, no one else is looking into them right now. But they have had visits from child protective services before.” 

“What prompted those visits?” Reid asked, flipping a page. “More complaints from neighbors?” 

“Apparently, up until a year ago, they bussed the kids into the nearest town for school. There were several reported incidents – kids showing up with unexplainable bruises, cuts, broken bones, and a couple instances of them carrying weapons, switchblades, butterfly knives, that sort of thing. It is legal in the state of Colorado to carry a concealed knife up to 3.5 inches so none of the kids that were caught with weapons faced charges, but between the weapons and fights with other students, there were a lot of suspensions handed out. After an altercation where one of them ended up punching a teacher, they pulled all of them out, told the state they were going to start homeschooling them.” Prentiss saw Reid raise an eyebrow out of the corner of her eye. 

“No red flags when they stopped sending the kids to school?” he asked. 

“There was a visit from the state a couple months after that,” Prentiss said. “Nothing came of it though, the caseworker reported that he was satisfied with the level of education that they were receiving and that the kids all seemed healthy and happy.” Reid hummed, and there was silence for another minute while he finished reading the report, before flipping through it again. 

“There’s nothing in here about what type of group they are,” he said. “Libertarians, fundamentalist Christians, survivalists, doomsday preppers… there’s nothing in the file about their beliefs. Just that they’re very isolated, don’t interact with the local community much.” Prentiss shook her head. 

“That’s because no one has ever been able to find out, even the locals, even when the kids were still attending school. Formally the place is called the Black Earth Ranch, but as far as Garcia could find that was just the name that the farmer it previously belonged to gave it, not one they came up with by themselves.” 

“Did Garcia manage to find out anything else?” Prentiss shook her head again. 

“Just what’s in the briefing. The only thing that we were able to get from the locals and the state is the name of the man that they’ve had the most frequent interactions with, goes by Pastor Ian,” Prentiss paused, trying to sort through everything Garcia had told her in her head, but Reid interrupted her thoughts.

“No last name on the Pastor? Do we know anything about him?”

“No last name, no idea where he came from. Garcia is running security cam footage of him she was able to pull from the local grocery store but she hadn’t found anything yet. He was the one who bought the place from it’s previous owner, almost ten years ago, but it was a totally off the books transaction, no money trail to speak of. The deed is under the name of a lawyer instead of anyone living on the ranch.” Reid hummed, but didn’t say anything, so Prentiss kept going. “Locals aren’t sure when other people started moving in, but the first kid to register in the local system was five years ago. The adults that we’ve managed to get last names for, mostly the ones that had their kids in the local system before they pulled them all, all have sketchy records – dropping on and off the map, moving their kids in and out of school systems all across the country. Any attempt by locals to talk to or learn more about them has been brushed off in a remarkably well-coordinated way. No one has ever really broken whatever trust they’re holding within the group, as a whole.” 

“So maybe some sort of survivalists? Doomsday preppers? Religious, if they’re being led by a Pastor?” Prentiss shrugged.

“Hard to say. That’s part of the reason the state called us in – even if there’s nothing to find in terms of the kids’ well-being, they want to have a better idea of what they’re dealing with with this group, in case something else arises with them in the future.” 

“Hence child protective services, not feds,” Reid said, absently reaching to touch the pocket that his new, false ID was resting inside. 

“Yup,” Prentiss said.

“Y’know, it doesn’t matter what they are,” Reid said. “All of these types of people, religious, survivalists, libertarians… they all remember Waco.” 

“Who doesn’t remember Waco,” Prentiss said. 

“So, we just check to see if the kids are safe and try and determine if they’re getting ready to kill people?” Reid asked. Prentiss nodded. 

“Strictly here to interview and observe,” she confirmed. “There’s no actual evidence of anything other than what a single local teenager said, definitely not enough to warrant a full investigation.” 

“I can’t decide if I want us to find something or not,” Reid said, and Prentiss sighed.

“Same,” she admitted. “On the one hand, if something is happening, better that we find it. On the other…”

“Better that there’s nothing to find at all,” Reid finished as they finally spotted buildings rising above the fields, the shape of a cross rising above them all, a dark slash against the bright afternoon sky. “Looks like the Pastor brought his religion with him,” Reid said, peering out the window at the cross as they neared a gate. Prentiss nodded, adding that to her mental profile. “There was nothing in the file about what denomination he claims to be a part of,” Reid said. Prentiss shook her head as she slowed the car.

“The only reason that the locals knew he was religious was because he introduced himself as a Pastor,” she said. “If he’s preaching or recruiting, he’s not doing it anywhere near here.” The gate was almost in front of them now, and Prentiss could see the large chain looped around it, holding it shut. She was just beginning to wonder if they would need to park and walk the rest of the way in when she spotted a woman coming up along the outside of the fence, wearing a white tank and old worn jeans, a large dog following just behind her. Her dark skin was stained with the dust from the road, her boots caked in something far darker. The car came to a standstill just in front of the gate at the same time that the woman reached the car, bending over to look inside as Prentiss rolled down her window. 

“You’re from the state?” she asked, and Prentiss nodded, her eyes slipping from the woman’s face, to the mass of scar tissue distorting the inside of her bicep, to the handgun resting in a holster on her hip, before settling back on her face.

“Emily Prentiss,” she introduced herself, cataloguing the way the woman held herself, wary and tense, with the familiar stance of someone who was ready to jump into movement at a second’s notice. “And this is Spencer Reid. We’re here from child protective services.” The woman gave them both a long, steady look before straightening back up, nodding. 

“Alright then,” she said. Her voice had a drawl that Prentiss couldn’t quite place, except that it definitely wasn’t local. “Let’s get this over with.” She crossed in front of the car, opening up the gate and waving them through. She didn’t follow them, just watched them drive off. Prentiss could see her in the rearview mirror, watched as the other woman turned her back on the retreating car to relock the gate. She kept watching until the woman finally disappeared from sight as they crested a hill, the compound suddenly coming into full view in front of them. The group – Prentiss hesitated to use the word cult, not when they didn’t fully know what they were up against – had built their compound tight to a hillside in the middle of the fields. It would be impossible to approach from the far side, giving them only three sides to defend. In any other circumstance Prentiss didn’t think that she would assume that the location was chosen for that reason, but everything about the place, from the placement of the buildings to the wall that further contained the compound itself made it clear – this place had been built in preparation for a siege. The only question, she supposed, was exactly who, or what, this particular group thought they needed to defend themselves against. 

By the time they came to a stop just before the single visible opening in the wall there were two men standing there, waiting for them. One, a short man with salt-and-pepper hair, brown skin, and a wide, friendly smile, waved as the car once again rolled to a stop. The other man’s expression didn’t change at their arrival – a flat, dead stare that set off alarm bells in Prentiss’ head, just as much as the shotgun slung over his shoulder did. 

“Hello,” said the smiling man as she and Reid both stepped out of the car. “I’m Pastor Ian. Welcome to our home.” He stepped forward to shake both their hands, Prentiss and Reid introducing themselves in return. The other man didn’t say anything, and the Pastor glanced back at him, his smile faltering slightly when he saw the look the other man was still giving Reid and Prentiss. When he turned back to them, his smile was a little bit smaller, a little more nervous. “This is John,” he said, and the other man gave a small, short nod. Prentiss did her best to smile back at him. She wasn’t sure how successful she’d been when he just narrowed his eyes at her, but she’d tried her best. _No last name_ , she noted. _No known last name for the Pastor either._ The Pastor cleared his throat, bringing her attention back onto him. “The woman from the state that I talked to on the phone, she said you’d just want to talk to the children?” 

“That’s right,” Prentiss said. “We’ve had some reports from the neighbours, we just need to talk to the children, get a better idea of what’s actually going on.”

“What’s going on?” John finally spoke, his voice a low growl, his expression still flat, though the anger he was feeling was obvious in his eyes. 

“We’re not here to judge,” Reid said, drawing John’s attention. “We just want to make sure that everyone is safe.” John snorted, and the Pastor shot him a look before smiling at the agents again, his expression even more strained than before. 

“We’re happy to have you talk to the children,” he said. “They’re not being hurt, and we’re glad to prove that to you.” 

“It’s good to hear that,” Prentiss said with a smile, following as the two men turned and gestured them up towards the small collection of buildings huddled together inside of the walls of the compound. From behind, she was able to see that the Pastor was also carrying a gun, holstered in the small of his back. _So much for a man of peace,_ she thought wryly. That was three guns so far, not too alarming an amount given the type of group they were dealing with, but still. Enough. She exchanged a quick look with Reid, could tell he was thinking something similar. Whatever the group’s beliefs, whether they had any drive to harm themselves or others, they were dangerous. They needed to be careful in how they dealt with them, spoke with them. 

“We don’t have school right now,” the Pastor explained as they walked up the stairs. “Figure even homeschooled kids deserve a summer vacation,” he shot a smile over his shoulder that Prentiss and Reid returned without missing a beat, “but we’ve gathered them all in the classroom to make it easier.” They stopped at the small building next to the chapel, and John opened the door, the Pastor heading in first. John gestured for them to follow, and Prentiss did, though she didn’t like having the other man behind her and Reid, couldn’t shake the fear that he provoked in her, all of her instincts warning her that the man was a threat. 

Inside the shadowed room were a small group of children, who, as one, turned to stare at the unfamiliar adults as they entered the room. Prentiss counted six – seven, as she realized that one of the kids was also holding a baby – kids. The room was small, though Prentiss supposed it didn’t need to be very big, if this was the sum total of the kids living here, with a couple of large round tables, drawings and maps pinned to the walls, and a large chalkboard at the front of the room, the ghosts of math equations still lingering on it’s flat black surface. A cracked open door at the back of the room gave a glimpse into a single-person bathroom. There was another door next to it, closed, but if Prentiss was to hazard a guess based on the dimensions of the building, she would bet it led to a supply closet or something similar. The entire place seemed clean, and though the shades were drawn, presumably to help limit the afternoon heat, it would clearly be otherwise bright and well-lit. There was no AC, but that alone wasn’t cause for alarm, especially if the building was rarely used in the summer. 

“Hey everyone,” the Pastor said. “Remember how I said some people were gonna come by and talk to you, make sure everyone is doing ok?” The kids nodded – some easily, others, mostly the older ones, more hesitantly, wary looks on their faces. “This is Emily and Spencer,” he said, gesturing towards Prentiss and Reid, who both waved. The kids didn’t look impressed. Prentiss scanned the room, taking in the way the kids were standing, their body language. Most of them were in a single group at the centre of the room, sitting or standing in a loose circle, including the teenager holding the baby. If she had to estimate, she would say the youngest, a girl with short, spiky red hair, was probably around 7 or 8 and the oldest, a boy with long black dreads and a large scar bisecting his whole face, was maybe 16, 17. Their little circle was rounded out with another Black boy, who shared a nose with the oldest boy – presumably his brother – and looked to be around ten, and the only other girl in the room, a teenager, maybe 15, who was nervously tugging down the sleeves of her sweater. Far too heavy for the weather, Prentiss noted, and wondered if the heavy fabric was intended to hide something from prying eyes. All four of them had their attention fixed on the two agents, giving her and Reid matching wary looks. The other two kids in the room, however, were completely ignoring them. They stood separate from the rest in a way that was clearly intentional, though she couldn’t tell if it was on the part of the larger group or the two boys themselves. They weren’t paying any attention to the Pastor or to them, too wrapped up in whatever hissed conversation they were having between themselves. 

“Boys!” John’s voice, loud and sudden from beside her, cut through Pastor Ian’s words and made her jump. She wasn’t surprised to see the two boys jerk as well, though the annoyed look that the Pastor shot John was a surprise. He wasn’t looking at the Pastor though, his attention fixed on the two boys – maybe 10 and 14, respectively – who were now standing to attention, facing the adults, their spines ramrod straight. 

“Yes sir,” they said in unison. John glared at them, but they didn’t flinch, though Prentiss suspected that she would have had trouble resisting the urge, were that look directed at her. The boys just stared straight ahead though, until the moment was finally broken by the Pastor clearing his throat, obviously uncomfortable. 

“I’ll take the baby Micah,” he said, stepping forward and relieving the oldest boy of the baby cradled in his arms. “I assume you don’t need her to answer any questions,” he said as he looked back at the agents. The smile that he shot them was dimmer than the previous one, but no less genuine. It was clear that something had affected him though, maybe the interaction with John, which was strange. Prentiss had assumed the Pastor was in charge – he certainly acted like it – but he also seemed almost angry at John, a man who Prentiss had assumed was one of his loyal followers, if the Pastor was bringing him out to greet interlopers, intruders into their home. If that was the case though, surely the Pastor would reprimand him or otherwise assert his authority. That he wouldn’t, or was unable, to control at least one of his followers… She wondered, suddenly, how stable of a situation they had found themselves in – if there was some sort of internal power struggle happening within the group, that could prove exceptionally dangerous, not just to her and Reid but to everyone in the compound with them, the kids included. “I’ll let you talk to the kids now,” the Pastor said, interrupting her thoughts. 

“If they’re minors, we’ll need a parent or guardian present,” Reid said, and the Pastor looked almost surprised; though, the look on John’s face, when she glanced at him, was simply resigned.

“Oh,” Pastor Ian said, “ok, well, John can stay if you want to talk to Sam and Dean first.” He nodded towards the two boys standing apart from the others, and Prentiss took note of the fact that they still hadn’t fallen out of their almost military-like stances. Unlike the other kids, they were also dressed in multiple layers, jackets over flannels over t-shirts, and heavy boots too. _Are they hiding something?_ Prentiss wondered again. “You met Micah and Eli’s mom down at the front gate, I can go get her. Gabby’s parents are out running some errands, I’m afraid, though, and they might not be back for a couple days, yet.” The youngest girl crossed her arms, fidgeting in place, though whether that was from the attention abruptly being directed at her by all of the adults in the room or something else, Prentiss couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry,” the Pastor continued. “I didn’t realize that the parents would need to be here, or I would have asked them to delay their trip.”

“What about…” Reid trailed off, nodding towards the other teenager. 

“Huong is an orphan,” the Pastor said bluntly, and the teenage girl averted her eyes, staring at the wall, a brief flash of pain crossing her face. “Her parents were… well, it was recent.”

“I’m so sorry,” Reid said, and the Pastor shrugged as much as he was able to while holding the baby. 

“These things happen,” he said. “They’re with the Lord now. Their souls are at peace.” John shuffled slightly, but didn’t say a word. The Pastor shot another annoyed look his way anyway, though, as if he knew enough to know what the other man was thinking, even if he didn’t say anything out loud. 

“Ok,” Reid said, clearly deciding to just power through the tension. “Well why don’t we start with Sam and Dean then, and th–”

“No,” John interrupted. 

“No?” Reid said, surprise obvious in his voice even as the Pastor spoke over him, his voice tight. 

“We talked about this John, we agreed–”

“You agreed,” John said. 

“ _We_ agreed,” the Pastor said again, and John glared at the other man. Prentiss was becoming increasingly alarmed by the dynamic between the two men. That the kids deferred to Pastor Ian spoke to his authority within the group as a whole, but John’s open defiance of him showed that his power was not absolute – or at the very least, that at least one member of the group wasn’t completely on board with his leadership. Whether that meant that the power wasn’t so intensely concentrated under a single leader as it usually was in groups like this, or that the Pastor was facing an insurrection, she just couldn’t tell. Whatever power struggle was at play here, she could only hope that it wouldn’t boil over while her and Reid – much less the kids – were stuck in the crossfire. 

“Fine,” he finally said. “But I don't have time for this right now. I need to…” he trailed off, glancing at Prentiss and Reid. “I have things I need to do,” he finally finished. “Get them to talk to someone else first.” The Pastor sighed, obviously still angry but visibly resigned. 

“Let me see if I can find Niveah then,” he said. “Then you can start with Micah and Eli. John,” he said, turning to the other man, “wait here until I find her.” John nodded, and the Pastor gave one final look around the room before he turned and headed out of the building, baby still cradled in his arms. Once he was gone an uncomfortable silence fell over the room, the kids shooting nervous looks their way every few minutes while John leaned against one of the desks, his expression somewhere between annoyed and bored. Annoyance made sense, but boredom when people from child protective services were there to interview your children was something else – even people with nothing to hide often felt nervous in the face of this sort of authority: agents of the state with the power to take their children away. That John was bored spoke to either an uncomfortable familiarity with the system, or a degree of confidence that they wouldn’t find anything wrong when they spoke to the kids that immediately made Prentiss suspicious. 

“What do you think?” she asked Reid, speaking quietly. John glanced at them but didn’t make any effort to come closer, to listen to what they were saying to each other. 

“Something’s definitely wrong here,” Reid said. “The relationship between the Pastor and John… John resents being told what to do. He wants to be in charge, and he expects to be in charge. The way he interacts with his sons… total obedience is his main goal.” 

“I agree,” she said. “Do you think we’ve walked into a brewing coup?” Reid shrugs minutely. 

“I can’t tell if it’s that far,” he said. “But we need to be careful that we don’t do anything to provoke further disagreement and dissent while we’re here.” Prentiss nodded, then moved on to the reason for them being there. 

“The school looks good, clean,” she said, and Reid nodded. 

“The kids look well fed too, their clothes are worn but solid. They’re nervous, but not of the Pastor at least. John…” he said, trailing off as he glanced at the other man. John was obviously making the other kids nervous, but as far as Prentiss could tell the man made _everyone_ nervous – it didn’t necessarily mean anything in particular that that would extend to the kids. 

“There’re less kids than I was expecting,” she said. Reid nodded. 

“I noticed that too. There are at least four kids whose names and descriptions we got from the local school board that aren’t here.” 

“Do you think their parents might have just left the group?” she asked. 

“No way to know,” he said. “It’s not like any of them were easy to find in the first place, if we can't find them in any system…” 

“That won’t be proof of anything,” Prentiss finished. “The two brothers, Micah and Eli, they were on that list though.”

“Gabby too,” Reid said. “Garcia managed to dig up a couple of warrants on her parents though, in Florida and Tennessee.” 

“Right,” Prentiss nodded. “That was mostly pretty minor stuff though wasn’t it? Nothing that those states would be chasing down.” Reid shook his head. 

“No, but that may be why they’re not here.” Prentiss nodded. 

“The Pastor may have decided to just remove the possibility of them being arrested entirely,” she said, finishing Reid’s thought. 

Before she could spend any more time thinking about it though there was the sound of the door opening behind them, and she turned to see the same woman from earlier hurrying inside. She slowed when she saw them standing, waiting. 

“Pastor Ian said I needed to be here,” she said slowly, her earlier stoic countenance slipping slightly as hesitation crept into her voice. Likely because she was now being confronted with the reality of the state being sent to speak to her children, Prentiss thought. 

“We need a parent or guardian present to conduct an interview with a minor,” Prentiss managed to get out, before John abruptly stood, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. 

“I’ll be back later,” he said, shooting a look at his sons. When Prentiss followed his gaze she saw that the boys were still standing, staring over at their father and the agents. John turned and strode from the room, but Prentiss let Reid be the one to watch him go, keeping her own attention on the boys so that she saw the way that their entire bodies relaxed as their father left the room, their shoulders immediately tipping inwards as they physically leaned into each other. Not so close that they touched, but just enough to make it clear that they wanted to shut out the world around them, focusing their attention only on each other. _There might not be anything going on with the rest of the kids,_ she thought to herself as she followed Reid, Niveah, and her two children to a corner of the room where they could have some privacy, _but there’s definitely something going on there._ She kept looking just long enough to confirm that, despite losing the other two members of their little group, neither Huong nor Gabby made any move to join the other two boys, before she pulled her attention to the small family now sitting in front of her and Reid. 

“So,” Reid started, “Eli and Micah right? How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen,” Micah said, before gesturing at his brother. “Eli’s eleven.” 

“How long have you lived here?” he asked. Micah glanced at his mother, who nodded at him to continue. Eli, Prentiss noted, was now twisting the bottom of his t-shirt in his hands, staring down at his own fingers, though she couldn’t tell if it was just normal nerves or something more. 

“Three years,” Micah said, before taking on a hasty, “sir.” Reid smiled at him.

“Spencer’s fine,” he said. “Why did you move here?” Another look at his mom, though as far as Prentiss could tell it was just nerves, not any attempt to coach her sons on the mom’s part. 

“After dad…” Micah said, before trailing off. He shot a helpless look at his mom. His brother still hadn’t looked up. 

“After their father died, I moved them here,” Niveah finished for her son. “I needed a fresh start, and a community to help support me. Pastor Ian he… well, he really helped us out after the accident.” 

“Accident?” Prentiss asked. Niveah nodded. 

“Car crash,” she said. “It was bad,” she continued, her eyes flicking to her eldest son’s face, the scar that just barely skipped over his left eye. “Eli saw… well, he’s still recovering,” she finished, her eyes settling on her youngest. She didn’t say anything else, intentionally not filling in the blank of what exactly it was that Eli saw, though Prentiss could guess. She wondered if the scar on Niveah’s arm had come from the same accident – it looked to be around the same age, and a trauma like that, that affected a whole family, could explain the move to a cult, or whatever Pastor Ian’s group was. The need for structure, community, an explanation for the horrible randomness of life… when born of trauma, those desires formed the perfect storm to lead someone to pack up all their belongings and move their children to somewhere they thought could offer those things. A sense of safety, of purpose. A home. 

“Do you like living here?” Reid asked, focusing the conversation back on the children. Micah shrugged. 

“It’s ok,” he said, then shot a guilty look at his mom. “I mean, it’s cool to be out of the city I guess. I get to do all kinds of things that I never got to do before.” 

“What sort of things?” Reid asked, and Micah shrugged, not looking at his mom this time, but meeting Reid’s eyes with confidence. 

“Y’know, dirt biking, cutting down trees, that sort of thing.” _Lie,_ Prentiss thought. His first, though it seemed like a strange choice of lie. 

“Do you ever go hunting?” Reid asked. 

“No,” Micah said, still meeting his eyes. Another lie. 

“How about you Eli?” Prentiss jumped in, drawing attention to the younger boy. “Do you like living here?” Eli still didn’t look up, but he nodded, so Prentiss knew he was listening to them, even if he wasn’t fully engaging. 

“Do you ever go hunting?” Eli shook his head. His posture, already tense, only got tenser. _Lie_ , she thought again. 

“What do you think of Pastor Ian?” Prentiss asked, switching tactics slightly. She hadn’t directed the question at either of them in particular, but she wasn’t surprised when Micah was the one to answer. She was beginning to wonder if Eli ever talked, though most of his nervous behaviour had only started when he sat down with them. 

“The Pastor’s cool,” Micah said with a genuine smile. “He showed me how to throw knives and his sermons aren’t really long or boring, like Pastor Jim’s are whenever he comes through–”

“Hey,” Niveah interrupted, a warning in her voice, though it seemed strangely directed at only the second half of Micah’s answer, and not the admission that their Pastor was teaching them knife throwing. Micah gave his mom an apologetic look. 

“Sorry mom,” he said, “but like…”

“They are,” mumbled Eli, finishing his brother’s sentence. Micah immediately smiled down at his brother, their mother’s expression softening as well as she looked at her younger son. 

“Why does the Pastor teach you how to throw knives?” Micah shrugged. 

“He knows how to do it. And it’s sick.” 

“We need to know how to protect ourselves,” Eli said to his lap. Niveah sucked on her teeth and when Eli looked up, she shook her head at him. Eli let his eyes drop back to his lap. “Sorry,” he whispered. 

“Why do you need to protect yourselves Eli?” Reid asked. Eli shrugged. 

“Just do,” he said, voice barely audible. 

“Who are you protecting yourself against?” Prentiss tried, but only got another shrug in return. There was a moment of silence, as they waited to see if Micah would answer the question, before Reid spoke again. 

“Have you ever shot a gun? Even just at targets?” Reid directed the question back to Micah, who shook his head, though by the way his eyes flicked to his mom and back, Prentiss suspected that was another lie. 

“Wait, sorry,” Niveah interrupted, reinforcing that suspicion. “I thought you wanted to talk to the kids because you thought they were being abused or something. Why are you asking about their– about guns?” 

“We received a report that children were being given unsupervised access to firearms,” Reid began to explain before they were interrupted by a noise at the front of the building. Prentiss and Reid turned in unison, just in time to watch as the doors swung open. A group of people filed into the room, rifles in their hands. Niveah stood, as did her kids. Prentiss shot a look back at the family, noting the way that Niveah’s body language remained calm and controlled even as her stance shifted into one ready to spring into abrupt motion as she watched the group finish filing into the room. Prentiss turned back towards the door, her heart rate shooting up as she saw that the Pastor and John were among the group, though outwardly she made sure her expression didn’t change from confusion with just a bit of fear. 

“What’s happening?” she asked, but Niveah didn’t seem particularly concerned with answering her, was already walking across the room towards the larger group even as her children rushed over to rejoin the other kids. Micah detoured to take the baby back from a woman who was holding both the infant and a handgun with the confidence of someone well-accustomed to handling both, and handling both at the same time.

“A reporter called,” Pastor Ian said, looking at the kids with a serious look on his face. “The police are on their way.” He looked towards Prentiss and Reid. “It’s a raid.”

* * *

Prentiss couldn’t decide what was more alarming, the calmness with which the adults accepted the Pastor’s words, or the lack of reaction from the kids – other than Gabby, who did look to be on the verge of tears, they all looked more resigned than anything else. Like this was just a normal inconvenience, annoying but unremarkable. The Pastor nodded to one of the men who had come in with them before crossing the room to where Prentiss and Reid were still locked in place, John and a new woman following close behind. The Pastor held a rifle in his hands with an ease that was unsurprising at this point. John looked similarly comfortable with the gun in his hands, and a second slung over his shoulder. 

“Did you know about this?” the Pastor asked, looking oddly disappointed rather than angry, though that was more than made up for in the pure fury written across John’s face. “Are you a part of this?” Prentiss shook her head. 

“No,” Reid answered for both of them. “We didn’t, we’re not. We swear.” The Pastor’s eyes searched both of their faces before he finally nodded. 

“Ok,” he said, “ok.” He glanced at John, who just raised an eyebrow at him. There was a long second where no one moved, before John finally spoke without looking away from the Pastor. 

“Kids, into the panic room,” he said. “The civilians can go with them.” Prentiss fought the urge to frown at him even as she obeyed the silent order of the gesture of his gun towards the back of the room, her and Reid jerking into motion at the same time. _Civilians_. Such a strange word choice. It spoke to a sharp divide drawn in the group’s minds between themselves and everyone else, that whatever knowledge they thought they had set them apart from ordinary people the same way that they would be if they were members of the military or the police. She followed the backs of the kids who were already obediently headed across the room, towards the other door in the back wall, the one that had been closed. As she watched the first couple of kids go through the door she realized that she had been wrong – it wasn’t the entrance to a storage room, but to stairs, leading downwards. John’s sons were still hovering by the door when they reached it, ignoring everyone else in favour of looking towards their father. 

“Here,” John said as they got close, swinging the extra rifle off of his shoulder and handing it to the older boy. Prentiss and the Pastor made a small noise of protest at the same time. “Save it, Ian,” he said, shooting a glare back at the Pastor. “You can judge my parenting when there aren’t a bunch of idiot civilians gathering outside, preparing to kill us all.” Civilians again, but this time in reference to the police. They really did view themselves as separate from the rest of society, as somehow uniquely prepared against an unnamed threat to the point where armed police were just ordinary citizens to them, as harmless and helpless as the two CPS workers that they were ushering into their underground safe room. Prentiss frowned. She just couldn’t get a read on this group, their driving force, the thing binding them all together. She glanced at Reid and could tell he was thinking something similar. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sigh from the Pastor. 

“Fine,” he said, his expression resigned. “Just… be careful,” he said, the last directed at Sam and Dean, his gaze fixed on them so that he didn’t see the way John rolled his eyes. 

“Give Sammy your handgun, Dean,” John said. 

“Yes sir,” Dean said, pulling a previously hidden gun out of his waistband and handing it to Sam, who took it with a confidence and familiarity that made Prentiss’ stomach roll. 

“Don’t answer the door for anyone but one of us,” John said. “We’ll come get you after we’ve taken care of the civilians.” Dean shot a quick, nervous glance towards Prentiss and Reid. 

“What if they’re not civilians?” Dean said. 

“We’ll take care of it,” John repeated, voice gruff. “Now go.” Prentiss had expected the Pastor and John to continue down with them, escorting them after the kids, but instead Dean nodded towards the door, his grip on the rifle comfortable, finger resting to the side of the trigger. _Good gun safety_ , Prentiss noted distantly, though most of her mind was still occupied with the exchange that had just happened between father and son, _what if they’re not civilians_ echoing around her brain. She didn’t understand what that could mean, though the implications of _we’ll take care of it_ alone was enough to cause her heart rate to pick up, a steady thud in her ears even as her training kept her completely focused. 

“You go first,” he said. Swallowing, Prentiss didn’t hesitate before obeying the teenager’s request, heading down the stairs after the other children. 

The emergency lighting strung along the walls turned everything red, and Prentiss could just barely hear the sounds of the adults above them speaking as she walked down the narrow concrete staircase. At the bottom was a short tunnel and then a large metal door, swung open. Through the doorway she could see the more welcoming yellow glow of normal lights, along with the still unnervingly calm faces of the other kids, peering out through the door to see who else was coming. 

“C’mon,” she heard from behind her, and glanced back to see the serious face of Dean staring back at her, the same flat stare that she had seen on his father’s face now levelled at her by his son. His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Walk through the doorway,” he said, and Prentiss had to fight her urge to frown at him, stepping forward into the room instead. She turned to watch as Reid stepped in after her, followed by the two brothers. Dean, the last one in, slung his rifle across his back for a second as he pulled the heavy metal door shut before spinning the bank vault style lock, sealing them in. Prentiss watched as the boy turned around, pulling his rifle back into his hands as he settled into a position nearby, where he could see both the whole room and the door. Prentiss took in his stance, the familiarity of it, the precision, and realized what it was reminding her of – the soldiers she’d worked with in the past. Dean had the same way of holding himself that she had seen in people with military training, except that he was a child, and had presumably been taught by an adult he trusted. She felt her gut roll again as she turned to take in the rest of the room, vaguely aware of Reid doing the same beside her as Sam crouched down onto the ground next to his brother, the handgun still in his hands. The other kids didn’t seem phased to see the other two with guns, she noted as she looked around the room, either looking towards them with a detached sort of curiosity or ignoring them altogether. 

The room was a large square, the ceilings tall enough that she realized that what she had thought was the yellow glow of electric lights was actually sunlight, filtering through a metal grate far above them, a slowly rotating fan just visible through the grate, sending fresh air into the room below. She frowned, squinted up at the grate. It looked like there was a design welded into the grate, some sort of pentagram. Still frowning she let her eyes slide down the wall to circle the whole room. She was unsurprised to see a rack of weapons on the far wall, at this point just the final confirmation of a story that had already been told through the actions of all of the residents of the ranch. A toilet and sink – completely in the open – occupied the third wall, while the fourth had two of the five cots haphazardly spread throughout the room pushed up against it. This was where the other kids had ended up – Micah and Eli sitting on one, Micah still holding the baby, while Gabby and Huong sat on the other. At this point she felt more resignation than anything else when she saw that Huong was holding a sawed-off shotgun, while Gabby and Eli were both holding knives with all of the confidence of someone well-practiced with each weapon. 

“Prentiss,” Reid said, nodding his head towards the wall farthest from the kids. Reid cut straight across the middle of the room while Prentiss trailed after him, choosing instead to stick to the outside edge of the room, eyeing the construction of the walls as she went along. They looked to be solid iron, immovable and unclimbable, the seams sealed by bolts and a thick, liquid line of soldering. Each seam that she passed, each panel, exactly the same. As she moved around the room, she took care to make her movements as telegraphed and unthreatening as possible, though she could tell that all of the kids were still staring at her and Reid, still carefully tracking their progress around the room. “What the hell are the state police doing, conducting a raid?” Reid said as soon as she was near enough, both of them far enough from the kids to not be overheard. “JJ said she checked–” 

“There must have been a miscommunication,” Prentiss said. “Or… or someone lied, somewhere along the line. This shouldn’t have happened.” 

“Fuck,” Reid said, looking around again. Prentiss did the same, though she knew from her earlier inspection that there was no way out of the room other than the door that was currently being guarded by a _teenager_ with a _rifle_. She frowned as she took in the walls again, the white marks that she’d been vaguely aware of earlier when she’d been examining the construction of the room suddenly coalescing into writing, strange symbols on almost every inch of the walls. The painting reached high enough that someone must have used a ladder to paint them all, to make sure that the entire column of the room was marked. When she looked down again she noted that the paintings extended to the floor, with what looked to be the same pentagram that covered the grate above them painted in matching white across the floor at the centre of the room. It was familiar in a way that she couldn’t quite place, something she’d seen before, a long time ago… 

“What the hell...” Reid said softly, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up to see Reid intently staring at the symbols on the walls. 

“Do you recognize them?” she asked, and Reid nodded absently. 

“Yeah,” he said, “though I have no idea what they’re doing here. These are in Akkadian,” he said, gesturing towards a set of symbols. “Hittite,” he said, gesturing to another set. “Hindavi,” he gestured towards a third set before looking around the room again. “There are at least a half dozen religions here, a dozen languages. Some of them are thousands of years old. I don’t…” he trailed off, squinting at a symbol on the wall closest to them. “Is this Enochian?” he said, voice incredulous. 

“What’s Enochian?” Prentiss asked. 

“The language of the angels, supposedly,” Reid said, reaching out to run a finger over the symbol. “It was recorded in the private journals of John Dee and his colleague Edward Kelley in England in 1583. It’s largely dismissed by religious and theological scholars though. Certainly isn’t considered a part of the canon of any mainstream Christian sect.” He looked back out at the room. Prentiss followed his gaze, her eyes catching again on the familiar circle painted on the floor. She _knew_ she knew it, she just couldn’t quite–

“Devil’s trap,” she said suddenly as it finally hit her, voice just a little bit too loud as the memories abruptly rose to the surface of her mind. Reid raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged, not sure how to begin to explain the priest in her childhood that had showed her the symbol, the same symbol that she’d seen in the photos from Matthew’s murder. Reid accepted her gesture, though when she finally dragged her eyes back off the symbol, the familiar ghost of regret draped heavily around her shoulders, she found that Reid wasn’t the only one paying attention to her. While most of the other kids had allowed their attention to wander away from the strangers in their midst, were now talking to each other, Dean had stayed intensely focused on her and Reid and was currently staring at her with narrowed eyes. She tried to smile at him, attempting to look reassuring, but the boy just frowned harder. There was something in his eyes, something dark that she’d never seen in a child’s face, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was thinking about the possibility of needing to kill her and Reid. She wondered if he had been thinking that before, if she’d just missed it earlier, or if it was a new thought, prompted by something that her and Reid had done – maybe that they’d noticed the symbols? 

Or maybe she was just projecting her nerves onto him. 

“What’s happening here Reid?” she asked, not looking away from the young teenager. “The Pastor is in charge, everyone was deferring to his leadership earlier–”

“Everyone except for John,” Reid interjected, and she tilted her head towards him in acknowledgement of his words. She looked away from Dean, even though every instinct in her body was warning her not to, was warning her to keep her eyes on him. Her brain – whether her training as a profiler or a more base, survivalist instinct – had decided he was the only threat in the room, and it went against everything in her for her to not keep that threat in her sight. She could tell he had no such compunctions though – she could _feel_ his eyes on her. Swallowing, she forced her attention back to her conversation with Reid, back to the observations that could mean the difference between her and Reid and the kids getting out of here alive, and all of them leaving in body bags. 

“They’re being led by a Pastor,” she started again, “but this,” she made a small gesture with her hand, attempting to encompass everything about the room they were currently locked in, “this doesn’t look like they’re Christian at all.” 

“Not in the traditional sense, no,” Reid said, voice slow and thoughtful. Prentiss looked back at her friend. “But there is certainly a large religious element at play here. Enochian is ostensibly Judeo-Christian, and some of the other symbols at work here are as well. I haven’t heard of a devil’s trap before, but I would assume that they’re Catholic in origin?” Prentiss felt a moment of fondness towards him for his delicate sidestepping of her past, before she nodded her agreement. “A large number of the symbols and other religions predate Christianity though.”

“So we are looking at a religious cult,” Prentiss said, “but one that hasn’t limited itself to just Christianity, or the Bible.” Reid tilted his head to the side. 

“That would certainly explain the use of symbols. I wonder if it might be a sort of merging of survivalism and religion. Remember how they referred to everyone as civilians, including the police?” Prentiss nodded, picking up Reid’s train of thought. 

“Right. So, they view themselves as warriors for God or some higher power, something that sets them apart from everyone else, that they think makes them uniquely equipped to address whatever threat they’ve decided exists.” 

“Exactly,” Reid said. Neither of them said what they were both thinking – that if the group was that convinced of their righteousness, of the necessity of what they were doing, they would be all but impossible to talk down, especially when there were so few of them that it seemed that every single person there must be a loyalist, with no ordinary followers for them to try and send out the kids with. After a long pause though, where Prentiss could almost see Reid thinking, he spoke again: 

“It’s interesting, because on the surface that’s exactly what you’d see in a typical religious cult, formed by charismatic sociopaths who take advantage of vulnerable people by convincing them that they are the only ones with a true understanding of God, that they are the only ones that can offer them safety and salvation. Which then leads to things like perceiving the cops as invading armies that are trying to challenge their faith or forcibly take away their home and religion. But that’s clearly not what’s happening here.” 

“There’s something off about it,” Prentiss acknowledged. “I don’t know if it’s the dynamic between John and the Pastor or…” she trailed off. 

“The kids are way too calm,” Reid observed, drawing both their attention to something that Prentiss realized had been scratching at the back of her head, a part of the puzzle of why this entire situation felt so _off_. 

“They’ve done this before,” she said. 

“But there’s never been a raid here, just visits from CPS. How would they have experienced this before?” 

“Drills?” Prentiss said, but she could hear the lack of conviction in her own voice, could see the doubt just as clearly in Reid’s eyes. No amount of drills in the world would ever substitute for the real thing, the reality of their parents, their community, being faced with armed police invading their home. The fact that all the kids seemed tense but confident in their safety spoke to experience, to having done this before, and to knowing that they could do it again. If it hadn’t been the police who sent them into the safe room before, though… Prentiss didn’t know what it could have been. 

“Sam and Dean both seem far more tense than the others,” Reid said. 

“Dean sees himself as the protector,” she said, watching as he said something to Sam, not taking his eyes off of them even as he leaned down towards his brother. The younger boy glanced at them in response to whatever it was that he said. “He feels like he’s responsible for everyone’s safety, and not just because of his father’s orders. You can see it in his posture, the way he holds the gun, how he hasn’t relaxed at all since we got down here.” 

“Responsible for everyone’s safety,” Reid repeated, “but mostly his brother’s.” Prentiss nodded her agreement. Before either her or Reid could say anything else though, the sound of gunfire, loud and unexpected, shattered the relative silence of the safe room. 

Prentiss’ gaze shot to the door, and then up, to where the sounds were actually coming from, the noises filtering down from the ground far above them through the vent. She looked around to see that most of the kids were now looking upwards as well, their fearful expressions ranging from shaky attempts at stoicism to the silent tears running down Gabby’s face. _She knows to be quiet_ , Prentiss thought, again struck with the sense that these kids had, somehow, done this before. The only outliers were Sam and Dean, separate from the rest of the kids in this moment too, in their reactions to it. Sam looked more tired than anything, now standing with his gun held in front of him, still pointed at the floor but ready, waiting. Dean’s expression was just as unafraid as his brothers, his face a mask of determination, resolve. _He’s accepted that he’s going to have to shoot someone,_ she realized. _If anyone from the state comes down the stairs, he’s ready to kill them to protect the other kids._ She cursed inside her head, wishing that there was any way for her to warn the police about what they were facing, what they would find if they came down those stairs. She could only hope that word of the raid would have gotten back to Hotch and the rest of the team somehow, that they would be able to get the state police to back off with the knowledge that there were two undercover FBI agents trapped in here with the group. 

In the meantime, all her and Reid could do was wait and hope against a backdrop of gunfire.

* * *

The sun had set and the sounds of shooting long since faded away when the banging came on the door, startling Reid and Prentiss upright from where they’d been leaning against the wall, a small concession to the fatigue sneaking up on them, the ache in their legs from standing on concrete for most of the day. The kids straightened up as well, Eli blinking blearily, having obviously fallen asleep. The baby started to cry just as Prentiss’ gaze slid over to the door, where she wasn’t surprised to see Dean had still been standing at attention, eyes watchful and wary as he listened to the pattern of knocks echoing around the room. Evidently, they must have matched some predetermined signal, because as soon as they stopped he slung his rifle across his back and unlocked the room. 

The Pastor was the first one in the room, looking exhausted but whole. He ruffled Sam’s hair on his way past, glancing tiredly around the room, taking in all the kids, safe and unharmed, before sparing a glance for Reid and Prentiss as well. John was right after him, and Prentiss swallowed at the sight of the red stain blooming over his side. With his shirt still on she couldn’t tell if it was his or if it had come from someone else, though he didn’t seem to be moving like he was injured. 

“Dad,” Dean said, obviously worried, though he was fighting to hide it. Niveah stepped into the room next, edging around John before heading over to her own kids, who greeted her with open arms. The other kids were being similarly embraced by the Pastor, Prentiss noted, though she kept the majority of the attention on the main threat in the room, now doubled with the addition of John. 

“It’s fine Dean,” John said, and Dean only hesitated for a second before nodding his agreement, accepting his father’s words. 

“Dad,” Dean said again, gesturing him closer. John shot him a look before bending over. His face didn’t change from its carefully constructed blank mask as Dean spoke into his ear, but Prentiss could see the way his body stiffened, sliding back into that same military readiness that she’d seen in him earlier, carefully contained violence just waiting to be unleashed. 

“Ian,” he said as he stood, making the Pastor look up from where he was crouched, talking to Gabby. The Pastor’s expression was haunted when he looked over, exhaustion adding years to his face. John jerked his head towards the door they’d only just entered through, and the Pastor nodded. He said something more to the two girls before he crossed the room, following after John with a resigned expression on his face. 

There were no other noises to indicate where they’d gone, what was going on, and though Prentiss was almost ready to scream with how badly she wanted to know what was happening, she bit her tongue and forced herself to wait, to stand still. Across the room, Niveah gathered together her sons and the rest of the kids, sparing a glance for the agents before she spoke to them, quiet enough that Prentiss couldn’t catch anything she was saying. The way the kids’ posture went from the looseness of relief to the slump of resignation told its own story though. It seemed like a safe assumption that they were being told that they weren’t going to be leaving anytime soon. She wondered what had happened, what was still happening, above ground to make the adults feel like it was necessary to keep the kids locked up. They were presumably at some sort of impasse with the state if they’d opened the door, however temporarily, but there was no way to know what that stalemate meant. She thought again of Hotch and the team, who must have been informed by now of what was happening on Black Earth Ranch, to two of his agents. The steps of hostage negotiation, of trying to diffuse this sort of situation, ran through her head for what felt like the hundredth time that day. There was nothing that she and Reid could do in that moment other than hope that the Pastor – or more likely, John – would be reasonable when they eventually began talking to the feds, and try to diffuse the situation from the inside as much as they could without blowing their cover. 

Finally, Niveah gave one last hug to her two sons before she headed back towards the door. She and Dean exchanged a nod as she reached the doorway, Dean stepping aside to let her through, which was when Prentiss realized that he had moved so that he was standing in the doorway, putting his body between the room and it’s entrance, but facing inwards, towards her and Reid. _He’s guarding us,_ she realized. He’s making sure we stay in the room. We’re the threat now, she thought, her earlier worries confirmed, and it was as that realization passed through her that Dean again stepped aside, this time to let John and the Pastor back into the room. The Pastor’s expression was somewhere between resignation and anger, while John’s expression was just a blank sheet as both men looked towards her and Reid. 

“Emily,” the Pastor said, his voice tight but firm. “Can you come with us please.” 

“What?” Reid said, his eyes widening as he looked between the men and herself. She shot him a smile that she hoped was reassuring, but didn’t seem to have much of an effect on the younger man. “Why?” The Pastor turned towards Reid, a smile that was nothing but a shade of the one he had first greeted them with crawling across his face. 

“Nothing bad, I promise. We’ve just got some people from the FBI on the line, and they’re hoping to speak to one of you, to get some reassurance that the situation here is as we’ve described to them.” 

“Ok, why not take m–” Reid started, but Prentiss was already moving, making her way back around the outside of the room towards the door. 

“It’s fine,” she lied as she crossed the room, the sound of her shoes clicking against the floor a sharp counterpoint to the sudden rush of blood in her ears. From the expression on both men’s faces she suspected that it was far from fine, something she was sure that Reid had also realized. Whatever the Pastor and John wanted from her, it was nothing so simple as a phone call.

* * *

Outside of the building, the smell of gunpowder still lingered in the dusk. With barely enough light remaining in the sky to illuminate the path that the Pastor led her down, they crossed the short distance between the school and the chapel. Just enough to see where bullets had pitted the buildings, though Prentiss wasn’t able to see any other evidence of the fight that had occurred there that afternoon. John’s presence behind her made the hairs at the back of her neck prick to attention but she fought the urge to turn to look at him, just keeping her eyes on the curve of the Pastor’s shoulders, the shifting dark fabric of his jacket. As they arrived at the front door of the chapel and he reached to open the door, he ushered her in ahead of him. 

Inside, there were no lights turned on, probably to avoid making themselves too obvious a target for snipers or anything else they were worried still lingered out in the dark. Prentiss could barely make out the familiar shapes of a church; the wooden pews, shoved out of their normal neat lines to clear more space near the door, pillars marching down the length of the room to the altar at the back, a wooden pulpit backed by a shadowed cross, the twisted shape of Jesus in his penultimate station. Something crunched under her feet and she glanced down just as the door closed behind her to see the movement reflected off of shards of glass strewn across the floor – the windows, she realized just as a large hand encircled her upper arm, the grip tight enough that she jerked against it on instinct before remembering herself. She turned, her expression a careful mask of fear and confusion as she looked up at John. There were other people in the room, the Pastor included, but she could barely make them out in the limited light, couldn’t assess the danger that they presented to her, to Reid, to the children. John though, with his hard stare, his shadowed eyes that gave nothing away, John was an immediate danger. 

“John,” the Pastor said, his tone filled with warning, though Prentiss couldn’t tell what he was warning against. John didn’t say anything, and the Pastor turned to Prentiss instead. “The phone’s downstairs,” he said to her. “Please, follow me.” 

“Ok,” Prentiss said. She had no other choice. 

John kept his grip tight on her arm until they reached the top of the stairs, but he stayed so close behind her as they made their way down the steps that he might as well not have released her at all. The stairs ended at a heavy metal door, and Prentiss swallowed against the growing unease and fear threatening to choke her. Whatever was through that door – and it sure as shit wasn’t any damn phone – wasn’t something she was looking forward to confronting. She watched as the Pastor reached towards the door handle, glancing back towards her and John just as his fingers closed around it. His eyes landed somewhere behind her and he nodded. She had time to inhale half a breath before pain was blooming from the back of her skull, sending streaks of black racing across her vision as her knees collapsed. Someone caught her before she hit the floor, though, and her head lolled forward as stars continued to explode across her vision. She was vaguely aware of being dragged across the ground by her arms, stomach and legs dragging across the cold concrete, but she couldn’t take in more than that, couldn’t focus on anything other than the ringing in her ears, the thud of her heart in her throat, the inky blobs forming and then disappearing in front of her as she blinked down at the floor. She could hear people talking distantly, though she couldn’t tell what they were saying, what they were– and then she was too focused on fighting back the urge to vomit as she was abruptly yanked upwards, shoved backwards into a chair, recognizable only by the hard line of the backrest digging into her spine and the jarring noise of the legs, sent skittering across the floor with the force of her arrival. 

She slumped forward the second hands weren’t holding her up anymore but that didn’t seem to matter, her arms still stretched tight– oh, she was being tied to the chair. She tried to clench her fists as rope was wrapped around her wrists, tried to flex to give herself extra tension to work with later, but she wasn’t sure how successful she was. She was relatively certain at this point that she wasn’t going to throw up anymore, the room spinning less and less as the black began to retreat from her vision, but she was still far from in control of either her body or the situation. Finally, there were no hands touching her, just the sounds of movement and voices in the distance, and she let herself breath, deep, slow inhales and exhales as she fought to come back to herself, to allow the world to drift back into focus. 

The water was a shock, cold against her skin and forcing a gasp of shock from her throat as she rocked back in surprise, spine coming up against the wood – metal? – at her back. She blinked, furiously trying to clear the water from her eyes as the pain still gripping her head was superseded by shock. When she cleared her eyes it was to see John and the Pastor staring down at her, matching frowns on their faces. The Pastor was closing the lid on a large glass bottle, the rosary floating in the liquid still left barely visible in the light of the single yellow bulb swinging above them. Prentiss kept most of her attention on the two men in front of her even as she surveyed the room. It was small, a metal rack of shelves on one side covered in unlabelled cardboard boxes, ammunition, and what looked like a collection of small antique chests and boxes. There was another gun rack next to the shelves, a sink in the corner, and a wooden table behind the two men. There was stuff on the table, but the angle wasn’t right for Prentiss to see what it was, though she thought she caught the glint of light reflecting off of metal. The room was otherwise empty, unless there was something directly behind her that she couldn’t see. The door was visible to her though, firmly out of reach behind John and the Pastor. She wondered if they had actually been contacted by the FBI yet, if they had any plan for how they would get their community out of this situation – if they intended to get out of it at all. 

“Not a demon,” the Pastor said, pulling her attention back to the two men. John hummed, eyes still narrowed. 

“Christo,” he said, and she looked at them, mind racing as she tried to think what her move should be, how she should act, what they would want to hear, what words would help, what words would make it worse. _Demon_ , she thought to herself, finally processing the Pastor’s words with a sinking feeling as the fragile profile that her and Reid had constructed began to dissolve within her head. Whatever was going on here was far worse, far stranger, than anything they had posited. She had the brief thought that the Pastor and John might not be being literal, but the _holy water_ they had splashed on her belied that. 

“Told you,” the Pastor said as an oddly disappointed look flashed over John’s face. 

“She wouldn’t go into the trap,” John said, “Dean said she walked around it when they first got there, and you saw her do the same when she left.”

“You ever heard of a demon that wasn’t affected by holy water or the Lord’s name?” the Pastor asked, voice dry, and John frowned. 

“No,” he said with obvious reticence, “but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t possible.” 

“Let’s just do the other tests,” the Pastor said. “Get this over with before I go back to trying to convince the FBI to not murder us all.”

“The things we have to do to her aren’t exactly going to help our position with the FBI if she turns out to be human,” John said as Prentiss’ heartbeat skipped, adrenaline shooting through her as John’s words played back in her head. She took a deep breath, and tried to prepare herself for whatever was about to happen next.

* * *

After Prentiss had left, Dean had relocked the door, the other kids already having settled themselves back into their previous arrangement. The baby was still crying, big hiccuping sobs that echoed in the small room. Micah was trying to hush her, rocking her back and forth, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. Reid had the uncomfortable feeling that he should do something, should offer to take her, especially since he was supposed to be from CPS, but was held back by the knowledge that the kids would be unlikely to trust him to hold her, especially since they’d apparently decided Emily was an enemy in some way. Whatever reassurance she’d tried to give him, he’d been able to read the situation as well as her – wherever they’d taken her, it definitely wasn’t for a phone call, and he could only hope that she would be ok, that she would be able to talk down both the Pastor and John on her own. 

Several long minutes passed while the baby continued to cry before Dean, having taken back up his post at the door, heaved a heavy sigh, swinging his rifle around to his back and walking across the room to the other kids. The looks on their faces were wary as he approached, and Reid wondered at that. It was obvious enough earlier that Dean and Sam were considered outsiders by the small group of kids, a feeling that was returned by the two brothers, who were held separate both by the group and by their own choice. As Dean drew level with Micah, though, Reid was surprised to see the older boy lean slightly back. _He’s afraid of him_ , Reid thought, dubious. Micah wasn’t just older than Dean, he was significantly taller than him too, with wiry muscle that spoke to enough strength to skew a fight in his favour. And yet, he shied away from, almost flinching when Dean held out his hands. 

“Give her to me,” he said in a tone of voice that was pure command, and Micah only hesitated for a second before obeying, carefully transferring the wailing infant into the other boy’s arms. As Reid watched, Dean’s posture changed completely, immediately bouncing the baby with an ease that spoke to hours of practice. Reid wondered if Dean and Sam had – or had had – a younger sibling. The clear discomfort that Micah felt handing her over meant that the baby probably wasn’t related to Sam and Dean, but the fact that he’d handed her over anyways indicated that the teenager at least trusted that the other boy was capable of caring for the baby. _Or maybe it was fear,_ Reid thought as he watched Dean walk over to the shelves of supplies, digging through them one handed before he finally made a noise of triumph, pulling out a bottle. _Was Micah afraid of what Dean might do next if he refused to hand him the baby freely?_ Dean shook the bottle of formula before presenting the nipple to the baby, who latched on with a happy noise, the crying finally fading from the room. Reid glanced to Micah to see the other boy looking slightly abashed, probably that he hadn’t thought to feed the baby himself, before his attention moved back to Dean, who was walking in circles as he stared down at the baby. The picture he made was disturbing, so young yet so clearly comfortable with an infant, the barrel of the rifle standing straight and proud over his shoulder. Reid glanced at Sam, was surprised to see the other boy looking over at his brother with a fond look on his face. As if he could sense Reid’s eyes on him, the other boy’s gaze flicked over to him, serious brown eyes meeting Reid’s own. Reid was surprised when he pushed himself to his feet, walking over to where Reid had finally given in and sat down on the cold concrete, sliding back down to sit next to him. 

“He used to do that for me,” he said. 

“Sorry?” Reid said, feeling thrown by the boy approaching him, his casual instigation of conversation. 

“When I was a baby,” Sam said. “Dean would take care of me. That’s why he’s so good at it, if you were wondering.” Reid glanced between the two of them, wondering if he’d misjudged their ages, if Dean was older than he looked, or Sam younger. 

“How old are you?” he asked, deciding that it didn’t hurt to keep the conversation going with Sam. Technically he shouldn’t be talking to him, but he figured that discerning what was happening here was more important than obeying the laws about interviewing minors. 

“Ten,” Sam answered easily. “And Dean’s fourteen.” So, not wrong about their ages after all. Reid thought about what that meant, about the implications of a four year old needing to care for his infant brother, and felt the same sense of wrongness that he’d felt earlier, watching the brothers interact with their father. While the entire situation was dangerous for all of the kids, it was clear that Sam and Dean’s danger was different than the others, that it ran deeper, was stronger. It had everything to do with their father. 

“That’s a pretty awesome older brother you have there,” Reid said. “That he took care of you like that.” He watched as Sam puffed up. 

“He’s the best,” he said, voice enthusiastic. 

“What are you talking about?” A voice came from above them, almost making Reid jump as his head tilted upwards to find Dean staring down at them. He hadn’t even heard the boy come over, none of his senses warning him that he was close. He fought the urge to shiver. He’d already identified the boy as dangerous, a threat not to the other kids but almost certainly to him and Emily. The baby was now asleep he noted, still cradled comfortably in Dean’s arms as the teen stared down at Reid and his brother, his expression eerily blank. 

“Just how much of a chick you are,” Sam answered easily, making Dean roll his eyes. 

“Whatever,” he muttered. “Move over Sam,” he said. Sam slid over easily, letting Dean settle between him and Reid. Unnecessary, but intentional, putting his body between his brother and the stranger in their midst. 

“How long have you boys been living here?” Reid asked them, keeping his expression open and friendly. Dean still gave him a suspicious look. 

“Three months,” Sam answered before Dean could voice the refusal that Reid could see forming in his mouth. Instead, Dean sighed, a look of resignation stealing over his face even as Reid fought to keep any expression of surprise from showing on his own. He’d expected the answer to be far longer, despite the obvious tension between them and the other kids. It would have made more sense, if John was making a power grab, for them to have been here for longer. That John would begin defying the Pastor’s authority after only a few months with the group… he would have to be confident, dangerously so, to be making a bid for taking over the leadership without having had the time to ingratiate himself with the rest of the followers. There would be no other option for him than violence and threats if he was actually planning on taking power from the Pastor, would have to be sure that he would be able to control the other followers, make them fall in line. It reinforced the question that had been in the back of Reid’s mind ever since he’d met the other man – just how dangerous was he? 

“That’s not long,” he said, deciding to keep talking and just hope that Dean wouldn’t object again, wouldn’t prevent his brother from answering. Sam shrugged. 

“Summer break,” he said, which confused Reid. Did he mean that they were just there for a summer? If that was the case, what was John doing? Unless it had originally been meant to be a temporary stop until John had realized that he might be able to take control himself? That, or Reid and Prentiss had both been totally off base in their interpretation of the interactions between John and the Pastor – though he worried that that wouldn’t make the situation any less volatile, if John was willing to actively and openly defy the group’s leader even without any ambitions of his own.

"How do you like it?" he asked, setting all of that aside for now, since it was still nothing but guesswork and speculation. Sam smiled, a bright, dimpled thing that was almost startling in their current situation. 

"It's great," he said, enthusiasm obvious in his voice. "I've been learning how to use a crossbow, and Dean's been showing me how to–"

"Sammy," Dean interrupted, warning clear in his voice as he also shook his head slightly. Sam's mouth shut, a twisted little frown taking over his face even as he leaned back against the wall in silent acquiescence to his brother. 

"Do you like it here?" Reid asked Dean, who shrugged.

"It's fine," he said, and Reid could tell that was going to be all he’d be able to get out of the older boy. Reid hesitated over his next question, knowing it was a risk but feeling like he needed to ask, had a duty to ask no matter how far off track they were from their original reason for coming to the ranch. 

"Is it just you guys and your dad?" he asked, watched as Dean nodded, a single, small jerk of his head. 

"Our mom died a long time ago," Sam supplied, obviously far more willing to talk to Reid than his brother. "I don't remember her, but Dean does." Dean frowned at his brother, but didn’t say anything. 

"And do you like living with your dad?" Reid asked and Dean snorted, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. _He doesn’t view me as a threat_ Reid realized, contrasting his now reluctant but relaxed posture with his earlier outright weariness, his unwillingness to set down his rifle. He didn’t know if that was just because the teenager had decided that Reid was trustworthy, or because he didn’t think that he could beat him in a fight either way. He had the uncomfortable feeling that it was probably the latter. 

"He doesn't hit us, if that's what you want to know," Dean said. 

"Much," Sam mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Reid to hear, though either way he wouldn't have missed the kick Dean aimed at his brother's shin. Reid swallowed at the confirmation of his earlier worries. 

"Shut up," Dean hissed, and Sam glared at him, but didn't say anything else. "He doesn't," he said again, turning back to Reid. "It's just training."

"What sort of training?" Reid asked, a sick feeling twisting through his stomach. _Does he do anything else to you?_ he thought but didn't ask. Even if John was hurting his boys in other ways, it was unlikely that either boy would offer up that information to him now, in these circumstances – the question was more likely to do little but further alienate him from them. Dean shrugged again. 

"Just training," he said, frustratingly vague and Reid was again struck by how little he'd been able to grasp about the situation on the ranch, how insubstantial and shifting the profile was turning out to be. Reid thought of one more question he wanted to ask, not related to either of the boys but one he desperately wanted to know the answer to. He weighed it for a minute before deciding that it wouldn't hurt the situation to at least ask. 

"My coworker, the woman I came in with…"

"Emily," Sam supplied, and Reid nodded.

"Do you know where your dad and the Pastor took her?" Sam shrugged, but Dean gave him a considering look, searching Reid's face for a long minute before he turned back to his brother. 

"The baby needs to be changed," he said, the request unspoken but clear, and Sam wrinkled his nose at him. 

"Why do I have to do it?" he asked, though he was already holding out his hands. 

"Because I need to talk to Spencer," he said, continuing when Sam again opened his mouth to argue. _”Sam,” _he said, warning clear in his voice. His brother sighed, rolling his eyes, but he still took the baby, getting up and heading over to the same shelf that Dean had procured the formula from.__

__"What's the baby's name?" Reid asked, watching Sam walk away. He wasn't quite as comfortable with the infant as his older brother, but it was still obvious that he'd had practice taking care of a baby before. Dean shrugged._ _

__"She doesn't have one," he said, and Reid looked over at him, making sure that the confusion was obvious on his face. Dean looked uncomfortable, but he still answered the unspoken question behind Reid's expression._ _

__"Bobby found her… whatever. She's only been here for a little bit, I don't know if someone's going to keep her or…"_ _

__"Or?" Reid asked, a shock of fear travelling through him. He had no idea what it could mean that someone in the group had _found_ a baby, and he wondered what had happened to her parents, if this Bobby, whoever he was, had killed them or otherwise forced them to give her up… Dean must have heard the fear in the word, because the look on his face when he met Reid's eyes was pure annoyance. _ _

__"Or the Pastor hands her over to the state," he said. "Though, since they apparently like to try and kill people who are just minding their own business, maybe that's not such a good idea." Reid decided to ignore that, with no idea what to say in response since he had no idea what had even brought the state police to the compound, though he suspected that the startlingly large number of guns he'd seen so far might have something to do with it._ _

__"Where's Emily?" he asked, returning instead to the question that had first prompted Dean to send his brother away. Dean glanced over at his brother, who was currently sitting on one of the cots, frowning down at the baby as he tried to get her to stop kicking as he undid the sides of her diaper. Dean looked back at Reid, a strange expression on his face._ _

__"How well do you know Emily?" he asked. Reid paused, the question catching him off guard, though he quickly recovered._ _

__"We've worked together for a couple of years," he said, hedging his bets and hoping that Emily would tell something similar if asked. "But I wouldn't say we're close or anything." Dean nodded, apparently satisfied with Reid's reply._ _

__"You just…" he started before trailing off, apparently reconsidering what he was about to say. "She's not what she said she is," he said, and Reid felt a jolt of fear, the realization that they'd somehow figured out that they had lied about being from CPS. But no, they hadn't taken Reid, just Emily, and it had been Dean who had prompted the Pastor and John to take her, Reid was sure; whatever the teenager had said to his father when they'd opened the room had directly preceded the change in how they treated Emily, their decision to take her from the room. He wondered, then, if they _had_ figured out that she was a fed, or if they had reached some other conclusion about what she really was. _ _

__"What do you mean?" he asked, and Dean shook his head._ _

__"Just… you're lucky," he said, continuing when Reid just frowned at him in confusion. "That she never attacked you." His voice was so sincere, his expression open and honest, and Reid felt another jolt of fear travel through his body. "It's ok though," he said. "My dad'll take care of it, she won't hurt anybody ever again." Dean smiled then, cold and vicious, and Reid knew, with a growing sense of dread, that whatever situation they were in now, it was like nothing they'd ever dealt with before._ _

* * *

__Dean had long since abandoned his spot on the floor next to Reid – first to retake his spot by the door, then to handle the distribution of old army rations and bottles of water to all of the kids, taking care of the baby back from Sam when he did so. Reid was just watching him as he made sure that everyone had enough food and water, when Sam came back over to him, two servings of food in his hands. He handed one to Reid before reclaiming his previous seat. Reid thanked him, keeping his gaze on Dean. The boy acted with a confidence and command far beyond his years, and all of the other kids, even as they clearly didn’t like him or want to be around him, were obeying his requests without hesitation. Micah had given him a couple of looks like he was thinking about asking Dean to give him the baby back, but he hadn’t actually said anything to him yet, just kept looking at him with a clear nervousness written across his face. Surprising, since the other boy was both older and bigger than Dean, though Reid supposed Dean did have the advantage of the rifle over him, over all the other kids… though only if the other kids thought there was a chance that he would turn it on them._ _

__“He’s always been like that,” Sam said, interrupting Reid’s thoughts. Reid turned to the younger brother._ _

__“Like what?” he asked._ _

__“Taking charge. That’s what you were watching right?” Reid fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. Apparently the younger boy was far more observant than the average ten year-old, more than even he let on. Sam must have taken his silence for agreement, because he just continued. “He gets it from dad, but he’s a bit nicer about it.”_ _

__“Nicer?”_ _

__“Giving orders or whatever. Still just expects you to do whatever he says though.”_ _

__“Do you?” Reid asked, and was gifted another one of Sam’s wide, dimpled smiles._ _

__“No,” he said, then corrected himself. “Sometimes.” _Most of the time_ , Reid thought, watching the boy’s expression. Sam wasn’t lying – he almost certainly did disobey orders some of the time, in a way that he very much doubted would ever occur to Dean to do – but he also almost certainly didn’t do it as much as he thought about it, wanted to do it, fantasized about it. _I might be able to convince Sam to act against his father if it becomes necessary,_ Reid thought, but there was almost no chance that he could say the same for Dean. The older boy would do whatever his dad told him to without question or hesitation._ _

__Whether or not Sam would act against his brother, Reid suspected, was an entirely different question._ _

__“He does seem to know what he’s doing,” Reid said, watching as Sam took a bite of the cold rations and then made a face. He took another bite anyways, with the grim determination of someone well accustomed to eating what he could get, when he could get it. Reid looked at how skinny his wrists were, the dents running across his nails. “Does Dean have a lot of experience with guns?” Sam shot him a look out of the corner of his eyes, but still answered the question._ _

__“Sure,” he said, “he’s been shooting them since he was like, five.” Reid had to fight to keep the reaction off of his face._ _

__“How about you?” he asked._ _

__“I thought you weren’t allowed to talk to us without our parents,” Sam said, ignoring Reid’s question. Which, in itself, could probably be taken as an answer._ _

__“I think we can call these extenuating circumstances,” Reid said, hoping the younger kid would accept that as an answer. Sam gave him a long, considering look before shrugging to himself and turning back to his food._ _

__“Do you have extenuating circumstances often?” Sam asked, tongue only stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. Reid shook his head._ _

__“Not like this,” he answered, deciding to go for honesty in the hope that it would buy him the same from Sam._ _

__“Like this like the ranch, or like this like the cops showing up and trying to kill everyone?”_ _

__“Both,” Reid admitted, deciding not to try and argue the intentions of the cops – he wasn’t sure how much Sam was aware of or bought into whatever belief system was at play here but, either way, he doubted he was going to manage to dissuade the youth of the impression that the police were here to do him and his family harm. “How about you?” he asked, choosing to instead follow the conversational thread towards something that had been bothering him for hours – how well practiced this entire thing seemed, how calm the kids were despite the gunfire. Sam shrugged._ _

__“This is the first time we’ve stayed here, we don’t usually stay with people other than Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim,” he said, which didn’t really answer Reid’s question at all. “Have you been to many places like this?” Sam asked, and Reid glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Sam seemed to have decided that him answering Reid’s questions was acceptable only if it bought him information in turn. Reid could work with that._ _

__“Not ever,” he said, again opting for honestly – it was true enough, while he’d hunted down numerous types of people who hurt other people over his time with the FBI, this was his first time investigating a group like this, and not just because he still couldn’t pin down the belief system they were operating under._ _

__“What do you usually deal with?” Sam asked, and Reid mentally pulled up what he knew about child abuse and statistics from CPS._ _

__“Mostly parents hurting their kids,” he said. “Sometimes siblings hurting siblings.” Sam made a face at that, glancing towards Dean._ _

__“Why would someone do that?” he said, quiet and not really directed at Reid. Somehow Reid knew that he was only referring to the idea of his brother hurting him, wasn’t questioning that parents might hurt their children._ _

__“Have you ever talked to someone like me before?” Reid asked. “Or the police?” Sam surprised him by laughing._ _

__“I haven’t been arrested!” Sam said, laughter still hanging around his words. “I’m a kid.” Reid blinked at him. That hadn’t been what he’d asked at all, and from the slightly nervous expression on his face, Sam hadn’t actually misunderstood the question, was just trying to dodge it. So, John had already been reported to CPS, or the police, or both. Reid wondered how often, and why, though Sam had already made it clear that that was one question he wouldn’t be answering. It was easy enough to speculate; the way Sam ate, the layered clothing, the suspicion that his brother leveled at anyone getting too close to him, the clear codependence and reliance upon each other for survival… Reid might still not have a solid grasp on this group as a whole but the movement of Sam and Dean’s bodies, the way they behaved and the way they held themselves, had already told at least part of their own story._ _

__“Where did you live before here?” Reid asked, changing tracks slightly. If he could figure out where they had been previously, they might be able to figure out who this small family actually was. Sam thought for a long second._ _

__“It was in Wyoming,” he finally said, “a really small town.”_ _

__“Did you like it there?” Reid asked, and Sam shrugged._ _

__“It was ok. I had to take the bus over to the next town for school, but it was only for a couple months.”_ _

__“A couple of months?” Reid asked._ _

__“We move around a lot,” Sam mumbled into his food. Reid wasn’t particularly surprised to hear that Sam and his brother had been living a fairly nomadic existence. That was one of the few consistencies among the residents of the ranch that they’d been able to identify and find any sort of official record for – for whatever reason, the group seemed to attract people who weren’t particularly interested in living in any one place for very long. The ranch exempted, of course._ _

__“Yeah?” Reid asked. “Why’s that?” Sam shrugged._ _

__“Dad’s work,” he replied._ _

__“What’s your dad do?” Reid asked, curious to hear what the boy might say. He suspected that whatever it was that John did, Sam either didn’t know, or didn’t know the entire story._ _

__“Lots of different stuff,” Sam answered. “Sometimes he gets a job at a garage as a mechanic, or at a factory, or at a farm. A couple times he’s gotten a job as the super of the apartments we’re living in, that’s always the best.”_ _

__“Why’s that the best?” Sam shrugged, taking another bite of food rather than answer, and Reid reluctantly followed suit, making a face of his own as the cold canned meat hit his tongue._ _

__“So what’s your dad doing here?” Reid asked when Sam paused eating to take a drink of water. “If he usually travels for work.” Sam shrugged._ _

__“Nothing, I don’t think.”_ _

__“He’s not working?” Sam shrugged again._ _

__“I guess he does some stuff for Pastor Ian.”_ _

__“Like around the ranch?” Reid asked. Sam tilted his head from side to side. _Kind of,_ Reid thought, _but not quite._ It was interesting, the way the conversation had gone – it kind of felt like Sam was trying to get Reid to follow a certain path of questions while also giving little away to show Reid where he wanted him to go. _ _

__“Do you like the Pastor?” he asked. Sam nodded._ _

__“He’s nice,” he said. “Dad doesn’t like how much he talks about God, he doesn’t believe in Him. Pastor Ian doesn’t get upset at me when I ask him about God though, doesn't even get bothered when Dean sometimes laughs during his sermons.”_ _

__“Your dad doesn’t believe?” Reid asked, not sure if he was surprised or not. It certainly might explain the tension between John and the Pastor, though John being invited to the ranch and allowed to stay as a non-believer was strange._ _

__“He used to, I think,” Sam said, “before mom died.” Reid nodded._ _

__“You believe though?”_ _

__“_ That if you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved,_” Sam recited instead of answering directly. As far as confessions of faith went though, it was an interesting choice of verse. 

“Do you worry about being saved?” Reid asked, and Sam smiled, though there was no happiness in the small twist of his mouth. 

“Don’t you?” Sam asked. Reid hesitated. Clearly religion was important to the group as a whole, but not to Sam’s family. He couldn’t be sure how much of Sam’s views towards other people, his trust of other people, was based in shared faith. 

“I worry about the safety of the kids I work with, the families,” he said finally, honestly. “I worry about my coworkers.” Sam smiled. 

“You’re like Dean,” he said. “Dean always says I worry too much about things that aren’t real, that I need to focus more on the things that can hurt me in this world.” Reid felt something like fear wash through him, at the strangeness of Sam’s phrasing, at the threat implicit in his words. 

“What does Dean think is going to hurt you?” Reid asked. Sam shrugged. “Do _you_ think there’s anything that’s going to hurt you?” Reid pressed. Sam bit his lip, hesitating before he spoke again.

“ _Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me,_ ” Sam recited, which didn’t do much to reassure Reid. He thought about how calm the kids were, the adults, and wondered, not for the first time, just how ready this entire group was to die.

“Is that what the Pastor preaches?” Reid asked. Sam shrugged again. 

“The Pastor says that we should place our faith in the Lord to guide us,” he said, “and that through our faith we will be saved from dangers both mortal and immortal. ‘The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.’” Reid hesitated. That wasn’t particularly alarming in its own right, but the fatalism in Sam’s choices in verses was still worrying. 

“What does your Dad think of that?” he asked. Sam laughed. 

“Dad says that I should spend less time reading the bible and more time training,” Sam said. “Dean says that too, but he got me a copy of the Vulgate for my birthday anyways.” Reid raised an eyebrow at him.

“You can read Latin?” 

“ _Beatus qui legit et qui audiunt verba prophetiae et servant ea quae in ea scripta sunt tempus enim prope est,_ ” Sam recited with a smile that clearly spoke to his pride in his abilities. Reid let his face show how impressed he was – and it was impressive, that Sam not only could read and recite latin, but could recall bible verses in latin off the top of his head. “Why are you asking so many questions about my faith?” Sam asked. 

“I guess I’m just trying to understand more about you, Sam,” Reid said.

“Understand me, or understand the Pastor?” Sam asked, and Reid shrugged, caught out. “The Pastor is a good guy,” Sam said. “He’s not preaching anything fucked up.” 

“Do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world,” Reid said, watching as his words just made Sam smile. 

“Are you saying that the Pastor is a false prophet?” Sam asked. 

“What do you think?” he asked. 

“I think Pastor Ian is Episcopalian, and doesn’t claim to be anything more than a pastor.” Reid nodded, making sure to keep any surprise off of his face. “You think this is a cult,” Sam said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I don’t know what this is,” Reid said. Sam smiled at him again, something sharp in the expression. 

“That’s because you’re asking the wrong questions,” he said. Reid startled, looking over at the young boy. He’d already figured out that Sam was intelligent, observant, but the idea that he’d been trying to lead Reid to ask him about something he wouldn’t reveal outright was… strange. 

“What questions should I be asking?” he asked. Sam shrugged. 

“I figured it out on my own,” he said. “I thought maybe… but I guess not.”

“Maybe what?” Reid asked, now thoroughly confused. 

“I wasn’t sure if everyone knew,” he said. “If it was like how Santa isn’t real, that everyone knows but grownups just don’t tell kids about it.”

“What did you think everyone knew?” Reid asked. Sam met his eyes. 

“Have you ever seen a monster?” he asked. Reid thought _yes_ and then took in the look in Sam’s eyes and had the sinking feeling that Sam was being far more literal than Reid. 

Reid was still struggling to think of a reply when the sound of elaborate knocking went to every corner in the room.

* * *

Sam had gotten to his feet at the sound of the first knock, drawing the handgun he’d shoved down the back of his pants while they ate, joining his brother by the door while they listened to the pattern of knocks. The other kids were gathered together in the far corner, the baby again returned to Micah so that Dean could point his rifle at the door. They looked nervous, but no more than they had at any point that day. All Reid could think about was what had happened the last time, whether it was his turn to be taken away. His worry over Emily, temporarily shoved down in favour of his conversation with Sam, his continued attempts to build the profile, had reemerged with a vengeance. He kept his gaze fixed on the door even as Dean nodded to his brother, Sam again stowing his gun so that he could open the door, both boys stepping aside as the door swung open. The Pastor was first through the door again, quickly followed by John, a figure that Reid recognized with an unpleasant jolt as Emily suspended between them. Her head hung forward, arms slung the men’s shoulders as they maneuvered her into the room. She was half-conscious, her feet stumbling beneath her, her movements slow and uncoordinated. Reid realized that he’d surged to his own feet only when John looked over at him. 

John’s expression was just as flat and empty as it had been the last time Reid had seen him, no sign that he had any reservations about hauling the woman he’d clearly injured back into the room, no sign of any shame. 

The Pastor and John made their way across the room to one of the cots in the middle of the room, the other kids shying away from their slow procession. Dean and Sam hovered nervously even as a couple of other adults filtered into the room, placing a couple of boxes on the floor near the door. The two men lay Emily down with a whimper, a grimace of sympathy and what looked like regret crossing the Pastor’s face at the noise. John simply straightened, looking to his oldest son. 

“Dean,” he said and the teen immediately snapped to attention, his eyes wide as he looked towards his father. John nodded towards Emily, now curled up on the bed. 

“Sir?” Dean said, hesitantly approaching his father. 

“You were wrong,” he said, and Dean flinched away from the man, though John had made no movement towards him. “Deal with this,” he said, gesturing towards Emily. The teen schooled his expression into something far more neutral, shoving down the fear that’d briefly been written so clearly across it. 

“Yes sir,” he said, and John nodded curtly. Reid glanced at the Pastor and wasn’t surprised to see the other man looking at John with an expression somewhere between disgust and anger. Looking towards the other adults in the room – the two men by the door that had brought in the boxes – he saw similar expressions on their faces, mired up with fear and shock. He wondered if anyone actually liked John, or if they were just too afraid of him to remove him from their group. The Pastor glanced around the room, gaze sweeping over Reid, Sam, and Dean, before finally settling on the other kids. 

“We got dinner from the feds,” he said, gesturing towards the boxes. “Chicken. Everyone make sure to eat, and then get ready.”

“Ready?” Micah asked, and the Pastor looked over at Reid before looking back at the teen. He jerked his head, a gesture that must have meant something to the teenager because the boy just nodded, face falling into resignation as his shoulders slumped. The adults left without further discussion, Sam locking the door behind him. The other kids headed towards the boxes, but Reid was no longer paying attention to them, and was already rapidly crossing the floor to where Emily was laying. Dean had left her to rummage again through the shelves at the back of the room so there was no one near when Reid sank to his knees next to her, eyes rapidly running over her body, cataloguing all of the blood, all of the bruises. 

“I’m fine,” Emily’s voice was a rasp, barely audible, and Reid had the horrifying idea that it was because she had been screaming.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, eyes travelling to her face, taking in the bruises marring the skin there as well. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” she repeated as Dean returned, going to his knees on the other side of Emily, laying a first aid kit on the sheets next to her. Reid glanced at Dean, who was looking down at Emily with a frown, then around the room. Sam was standing by the door, gun still in hand, guarding the door in his brother’s stead as the other kids unpacked the food. Dean’s voice brought Reid’s attention back to the two people in front of him, to Dean asking Emily if she could sit up. Emily shook her head before quickly closing her eyes, her breath going shallow. 

“Did they hit your head?” Dean asked at almost the same time as Reid. Dean didn’t even look at Reid, though, his attention clinical and entirely on Emily as she answered without bothering to reopen her eyes. 

“Back of my head,” she said, and Dean reached out and took hold of her head. Reid had to fight the urge to slap the teen’s hands away, to stop him from touching her, hurting her more, but his movements were gentle as he tipped her head to the side, pressing sure fingers up the back of her skull. 

“You’ve got a lump,” Dean confirmed. “It was bleeding a bit but I think it’s stopped on its own.” He let go of Emily’s head and she let it roll back, finally blinking her eyes back open to stare up at the ceiling. 

“Concussion?” Reid asked. 

“Probably,” Emily said towards the pentagram far above them. Reid bit down on his worry, turning back to see Dean tipping a bottle of water over Emily’s arm, stretched out on the edge of the cot, carefully rising off the blood covering the limb. He didn’t seem to notice the way the mixture of blood and water was soaking into the mattress of the cot, or maybe he just didn’t care. The coating of dried and fresh blood had obscured a line of cuts, neat horizontal slashes marching up her forearm, all of which started to well up with fresh blood as soon as the water was no longer sluicing over them. They were far worse than Reid would have guessed, each wound incised and deep, but Dean didn’t react beyond a pinched expression and careful assessment.  
He doused her arm liberally in Band-Aid brand antiseptic and picked up the needle and thread he’d already set out. Reid must have made a noise because Dean looked up then, his eyes running over Reid’s face, down to the grip that he only then realized he had on Emily’s hand. 

“Do you know how to do this?” he asked, and Reid had no choice but to shake his head, _no_. 

“Ok,” the teenager said, as if that settled something. He looked at Emily. 

“Do you want a painkiller?” he asked. “We have acetaminophen, percocet, maybe some oxy…” Dean trailed off, his eyes falling to the bag he’d set on the cot next to Emily. 

“I’m good,” Emily said, and Dean nodded as if that was the answer he’d been expecting and without any further preamble, bent his head over Emily’s arm, pushing the needle into her skin. Reid couldn’t do anything but watch, knowing full well that the cuts would be better off stitched, and that there was nothing he could do, that this was one area where he lacked the knowledge necessary to help, to make it better. They sat in silence for a long minute as Dean finished the first cut. Reid pushed himself upwards, leaning forward, and Dean glanced at him before he leaned backwards in mirror to Reid’s movement, giving him the space to look at the stitched cut. The row of black knots were neat, even, impressively so, and Reid leaned back, assured that Dean seemed to, unnervingly, know exactly what he was doing. Dean nodded at him, whether in approval of Reid’s caution or something else, before he again bent his head, moving on to the next cut. The sounds of the other kids weren’t quite enough to drown out the breathy noises of pain coming from Emily, but Dean didn’t react to them either, just kept working, steady and well-practiced in a way that made Reid’s stomach twist. Dean hadn’t just done this before – he had done it a lot, enough that his hands were steady and sure as he drew the needle through Emily’s skin, as confident in the practice as any medic. Reid couldn’t help but wonder from who and why, from what and how Dean had gained all of the experience that was written into every tug on the thread. He glanced again at the long sleeves still covering his and his brother’s bodies and wondered. 

Reid almost didn’t catch it when Dean spoke, too focused on watching the teen’s hands, feeling the flex of Emily’s fingers within his own. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, looking up to see both Emily and Reid looking back at him. He grimaced, turned back to his work. “This is my fault,” he said. “I thought… but I was wrong. Sorry,” he said again, eyes flicking to Emily’s face then back down. He looked nervous, guilty, and, for maybe the first time since they’d arrived, like something approaching his actual age. 

“What did you think?” Reid asked. Dean didn’t reply, but Emily did. 

“He thought I was a demon,” she said, and Reid looked up at her, unable to hide his surprise. Emily licked her lips, chapped and bitten. “That’s what his dad said.”

“You wouldn’t go in the devil’s trap,” Dean mumbled, and Reid had never felt like he understood what was going on here less. 

“Your brother said you weren’t religious,” he said before he could think better of it, but Dean just snorted, hands never wavering. 

“Just because God isn’t real doesn’t mean evil isn’t,” Dean said. Reid blinked. 

“So you don’t believe in God, just the devil?” Emily asked. Dean glanced up at her, shook his head as he turned his attention back to her arm. 

“You don’t want to know what I believe,” he said. 

“I do,” Reid said, keeping his expression open and genuine when Dean’s eyes flicked to him, looking at him for a long moment, expression considering. 

“There’s no greater plan,” he finally said as he went back to his work. “No higher powers, above or below. Anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you something. There’s just us, and evil, and death.” 

“That’s a pretty bleak outlook,” Emily said. Dean smiled without looking up. 

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s the way it is.” 

“Your brother believes,” Reid said, and Dean glanced towards the door, where his brother still stood, looking over at them with an anxious expression on his face. 

“Yeah, well, Sammy doesn’t know everything yet.” Reid fought the urge to frown. 

“What doesn’t he know?” Reid asked. Dean shrugged. 

“Same thing you don’t know,” he said. 

“What don’t I know?” Reid asked. 

“What real evil looks like,” Dean said, and Reid exchanged a look with Emily, knowing she was thinking the same thing he was. If only this kid knew the kinds of evil that he and Emily had seen, the thousands of ways that people found to hurt other people that their team had witnessed over the years… 

“What does real evil look like?” Emily asked, and Dean glanced up, his eyes dark and full of shadows, but he didn’t say anything. After a second he shook his head and returned to his task, and they didn’t speak again.

* * *

Even lying down, Prentiss could feel how shaky she was, the combination of blood loss and pain making her entire body tremble. She had been rendered functionally useless, something that she was all too aware of. If John or the Pastor came back… not that she’d been able to do much before, when they’d taken her. 

She did feel slightly better after the granola bar and water that Dean had brought her, though, his expression serious. More alert anyways, and less like she was seconds away from passing out. Better enough to be able to read the expressions sliding across Dean’s face. The guilt he felt was obvious, written into every movement he made, though it seemed clear that what had happened to her hadn’t been enough to shake whatever beliefs this group shared that had led him to tell his father she was a demon in the first place. He was guilty, but not doubting. She listened as Reid asked him a couple of more careful questions, but he had apparently decided that he’d told them enough, sidestepping them with the grace of a practiced liar; someone very familiar with the fine art of hiding the truth without raising suspicion. 

She hadn’t been able to debrief Reid about what had happened when they’d been separated, everything that she’d heard and witnessed. Everything that John and the Pastor had done to her. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be honest – of course it was best to debrief as soon as possible, while everything was still fresh and before time could strip details from events – but she wasn’t sure she understood what had happened enough to describe it, had been struggling to order and make sense of it in her own head ever since John had shook his head at the Pastor and they had untied her. The Pastor’s face, through her half-open eyes, had been stricken, apologies slipping from his lips as he helped John get her upright, leading her back out of the basement, leaving behind floor stained with her blood. The things that they’d said, the casual way that they had mentioned monsters, creatures from fairy tales, one after another as they cut her and burned her and splashed her with unidentifiable liquids. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced, nothing she’d ever heard or seen and she didn’t know how to reconcile that sharp of a divide with reality with how large this group was, how much all of them had apparently bought into this shared delusion. The paranoia, the righteousness, the molding of men into monsters, creating fur and fangs and claws out of ordinary flesh… she didn’t know who it had come from, how it had managed to poison so many people. It went beyond anything she’d ever seen, ever heard of, no other cult she’d ever encountered this embroiled in a shared nightmare. 

When she closed her eyes she could still see John’s face, impassive to her screams, the Pastor standing behind him, helping him, eyes blank like she’d never seen, like he’d managed to suddenly rip away the veil of humanity that he’d shown to them since they’d arrived. It was him that she was the most horrified by, the most afraid of – she’d known that John was dangerous, that he was the slightest provocation from violence at any time – but the Pastor had been a surprise, his friendly affect a mirage that she’d have sworn was real. It scared her, how well he’d fooled both her and Reid, made her wonder what else she’d missed, what else they might still be missing. 

She wanted to keep thinking about it, wanted more than anything to ask Reid more questions, if they could get Dean to leave them alone for a minute, maybe say something to get him to go back to his post guarding the door… but she could feel the heavy pull of the blood she’d lost, the adrenaline draining from her body and leaving her with nothing but the fatigue of hours spent awake, hours spent screaming. Her eyes were getting heavier and heavier, and try as hard as she could, she just couldn’t keep them open. 

“Hey,” Reid’s voice, even as soft as it was, drew her eyes to his face. “Sleep for a bit, it’s ok. I’ve got this,” he said. She wanted to tell him that he couldn’t have this, that they had no control over the situation, but that wouldn’t help anything. Even if it was true. So she let her eyes fall shut, and allowed herself a moment to rest. 

She was brought back to the world an indeterminate time later by the firm press of Reid’s hand on her elbow, his worried face hovering above her. Dean’s hand was a warm pressure on her other side as the man and the boy helped her sit up. 

“What’s–” she said, slowly realizing that the other kids were nowhere to be seen, only Sam and John left in the room. 

“We’re leaving,” Dean said, and Prentiss felt a jolt of fear travel through her entire body. She thought that her normally solid grasp on her face might be slightly shaken, as Dean grimaced in response to whatever he saw in her expression. “Not you,” he said. “You’re staying here. Don’t worry, we’re not gonna hurt you or anything.” His eyes slid to the bruising that was keeping her one eye from opening all the way and winced. “Any more,” he amended. “Can you stand up?” 

“Yes,” Prentiss said, though she had no idea if she could actually manage to get up, or if her legs would hold her weight once she was upright. 

“Ok,” Dean said, his expression saying that he didn’t really believe her. Between him and Reid though, they managed to get her to her feet without too much of a struggle, though she couldn’t stop herself from swaying slightly when she was upright, dizzy from the bloodrush. Her eyes fixed on Sam, shifting from foot to foot by the door, obviously anxious as he looked back and forth between his dad and his brother and the agents, his handgun still held at the ready, though it was pointed at the floor for now. John’s face was as impassive as it had ever been, and Prentiss noted that he’d changed from the clothing that he’d been wearing; too stained with her blood. They shuffled over to the door, Prentiss more grateful than she’d like to admit for the solid support of Reid and Dean on either side of her. John stopped them before they could go through the door though, speaking the name of his youngest and gesturing to them. 

“Help Emily and Spencer to the church Sam,” he said. 

“But–” the boy said. 

“Sam,” John said, voice cold and flat and Sam visibly deflated, moving to take Dean’s place on Prentiss’ other side. He wasn’t quite as solid as his brother, too short to support her as well as he had been, but he was stronger than she would have guessed, strong enough to easily help Reid maneuver her through the doorway. There was silence behind them for a long moment, before it was suddenly broken by the loud, unmistakable sound of skin hitting skin. Under her arm, Sam flinched, but didn’t pause, didn’t even try to turn around, just kept leading them upwards as the sound of John’s voice rose behind them, words indistinguishable though the anger underpinning them came across clearly. 

Emily’s heart rate rose as they made their way across the rough ground outside, back up to the chapel; rising above them in the dark pre-dawn light like a spector, something huge and hulkling and ominous, nothing like the friendly facade that had greeted them when they’d first arrived at the ranch. Dean’s reassurances hadn’t done much to temper the feeling of dread that was growing inside her gut – whatever the Pastor and John were about to do next was the big move, and nothing that she’d seen so far had suggested that the group was preparing for an easy surrender. Her mind ran over possibilities over and over again like a tongue prodding at a loose tooth, just looping nightmare scenario after nightmare scenario. The only known factor in this situation was the feds presumably currently camped out outside of the ranch, waiting for the right moment to come in, their playbook in this situation as familiar to her as any other part of her training. Their team was probably with them by now too, a thought that was both comforting and just another reminder that this shouldn’t have happened, that she and Reid should never have been in this position. That someone, somehow, had endangered not only their lives but also the lives of every single person on the ranch. 

She wondered if they had tried to negotiate for the release of some of the children yet, if the group had maybe even sent some of them out. She dismissed the idea even as it crossed her mind though. Everything she’d seen so far suggested that this group would rather die than let any of the kids out of the safety they believed they alone provided, making a minimal loss scenario unlikely from the very start, before they’d even gained the additional insights into the beliefs that made up the group’s bedrock. Her stomach sank with the realization of how truly doomed this venture had been from the start, from long before her and Reid had even entered the property, before Sam and Dean and their father had arrived, maybe even before Niveah and her sons, before any of the children, when it was just the Pastor and the land and the monster in his mind. 

The lights were out in the chapel when they arrived, and there was no one to be seen, the eerie stillness of the air sending shivers crawling up Prentiss’ spine. _It’s too quiet,_ she thought before one of the shadows suddenly moved, coalescing into the shape of Pastor Ian, his expression exhausted and resigned. Prentiss’ stomach gave another lurch at the sight of his face, the memory of him cutting into her skin at odds with the distance he now kept from them, his hands held intentionally open and empty at his sides. 

“Sam?” he said, looking between the boy and the agents. “Where’s your father and brother?” 

“They’re coming,” he said, and the Pastor’s expression tightened, though he didn’t say anything. 

“Ok, help me get our guests situated then,” he said, gesturing towards two chairs placed in the centre of the room. Reid and Sam helped Prentiss sit before the Pastor gestured towards the other chair. Reid sat slowly, carefully. Prentiss could almost see his brain whirring, running through a hundred possible scenarios, trying to predict the group’s next move, trying to figure out how to get them out. They both watched as the Pastor handed Sam a length of rope, picking up his own as Sam walked around the chair, behind Prentiss. 

“Sorry about this,” he said as he took hold of her hands. Prentiss barely stopped the pained noise that wanted to wrench itself from her throat but she somehow managed, lips pressed tightly together as Sam bound her with deft, practiced movements that were as unsettling as anything else that she’d witnessed from the children here. What were they _doing_ with these kids? Prentiss worried that they’d never be able to find out, that whatever was about to happen – had already happened? – would leave them with nothing more than corpses and answerless questions; pleas to make sense of a tragedy that would never be heard or responded to. She thought about how still, how dead the air seemed in the building, and swallowed. 

_Where was everyone?_

“What’s happening Pastor?” Reid asked, finally breaking the silence, as the Pastor moved over to tug at the ropes binding Prentiss to the chair, checking Sam’s work. “Where is everyone? The other kids?” The Pastor didn’t answer him, just made a pleased noise as he found Sam’s knots solid, unshakable. Prentiss just caught the tail end of Sam rolling his eyes as he walked back around to stand in front of them. 

“I do know how to tie a knot,” he said, the slightly petulant tone staining his voice making him sound far closer to his age than anything else he’d said previously. 

“I know you do,” the Pastor answered, his voice calm and neutral as he joined Sam. “Nothing wrong with double checking though.” Sam pulled a face that the Pastor, too busy looking at Reid and Prentiss, almost certainly didn’t catch. 

“What’s happening?” Prentiss asked, repeating Reid’s earlier words. The Pastor’s eyes slid to her, and then back to the space between them. _He feels guilty_ , she realized. _For what he did to me._ She didn’t understand it. Why had he and John done it when the pastor, at least, obviously felt bad for it, regretted it even? Dean, too, had only expressed regret when she’d been returned, battered, to the room. What had Dean expected to happen? Or, maybe the better question was, what had she done to convince them she wasn’t a monster, and what would have happened if she hadn’t passed their test? What might have happened to other people who had been subjected to the same well-practiced series of trials in the past? Because it _had_ been well-practiced, a familiar ritual of cut after cut that spoke to years of practice, of body after body.

Prentiss was distracted from her thoughts by the sound of the large chapel doors opening. The Pastor hadn’t answered her either, she noted as they all watched Dean and his father walk in, John shutting the door firmly behind them. Dean lingered in the shadows by the door, his brother immediately joining him there, while John stepped forward into the scant light coming in through the windows. The sound of the boys whispering was the only sound in the room as John looked at Prentiss and Reid before his gaze went back to the Pastor. 

“Everything good?” he asked, and the Pastor nodded. 

“Just waiting for you and your boys,” he said. John turned towards the door. 

“Sam,” he said, “Dean. Now.” The boys immediately stopped talking, straightening up. 

“Yessir,” they said as one, before hurrying down the same stairs that Prentiss had been walked down; the same stairs she had been dragged up. John nodded to the Pastor and, with a final glance at Reid and Prentiss, followed his sons into the darkness. The Pastor stared after them for a long moment before running a hand over his face, blowing out a tired sigh before he turned to face the agents tied in front of him. 

“The feds will be here soon,” he said. “We’re pretty sure they were planning an early morning raid, so hopefully you won’t be sitting here too long.” He turned, looking Prentiss directly in the eyes. “Emily, I can’t say enough how sorry I am. We thought– well, it’s not important. This entire thing was…” he trailed off, apparently lacking the vocabulary to encompass everything that the last day had been. He blew out a long breath, and there was a long moment of silence before he finally spoke again. “I know that you won’t believe us, and that there’s no way for me to prove otherwise to you, but whatever you think we are, whatever you think of us… you’re wrong.” 

“We don’t thin–” Reid started, but the Pastor waved a hand at him, cutting him off. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended, I just wish… but that doesn’t matter. I do want you to know though, whatever else you think of us, we do not and would never hurt a single one of those children. Any of us.” Prentiss heard the echo of skin hitting skin in her head even as she opened her mouth to speak:

“We know,” she said, “so why don’t you tell us where they are? We can make sure they’re out of harm's way while we figure this out with the police.”The Pastor stared at her for a long moment before he smiled, a small, crooked thing. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “They’re already gone.” Prentiss felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. The Pastor smiled again, that same crooked, almost _sheepish_ thing, as if he hadn’t just admitted to– to– fuck, she didn’t even want to think it. 

The Pastor didn’t say anything else, just turned and followed after John and his sons, the black of his shirt merging with the shadows filling the dark doorway as if he was dissolving into it. 

“Fuck,” Reid swore, loud and uncharacteristic as the final echos of the Pastor’s footsteps faded from the room. 

Prentiss didn’t say anything. 

Ten minutes later, ten minutes too late, the front doors of the chapel were kicked off their hinges.

* * *

Emily had been rushed off as soon as the agents that had knocked the door down had gotten them untied, straight into the ambulance that had been waiting outside of the walls that they had first been led through what felt like days earlier. Reid had been swaying on his feet by the time Hotch had told Morgan to put him into the SUV and take him to the hotel so he could get some sleep. His protests that he didn’t need to go easily fell apart under the combined weight of his exhaustion and his boss’ glare, and he instead allowed himself to be herded into the big black vehicle, resting his head against the window and staring out at the uncomfortably bright early morning sunlight. His eyes felt gritty, like every blink took physical effort, his bleary vision fixed on the landscape that rushed past the outside of the car. 

“You ok?” Morgan’s voice was quieter than it usually was, though his tone was as gentle as it ever was. Reid smiled without looking over at him, suddenly immeasurably grateful to be beside his friend, to be alive and steadily putting more and more distance between himself and that ranch. There were still so many questions inside his head, tumbling over each other, fragments of answers that didn’t line up, couldn’t line up, speculation and strangeness, but he was too tired, and the more that he tried to make sense of it the further it splintered, slipping from his grasp. 

“I’m ok,” he said, voice raspy. He took another drink of the bottle of water someone had put in his hands at some point. Probably JJ. 

“You want to talk about it?” Morgan asked, and Reid shook his head. 

“Later,” he said. “I don’t really… Prentiss and I were separated for a bit. I think we maybe have different pieces of the puzzle. Or, I hope we do.” Reid frowned down at his hands, twisting at the cap of the bottle. 

“You sure you’re ok?” Morgan repeated. 

“I’m not hurt,” Reid said, which wasn’t an answer, but Morgan didn’t ask again, just let an easy silence settle. 

He wanted to ask if Morgan knew, if they’d found anything, anyone yet in their search of the ranch, in the dark and already bloody basement of the chapel. A larger, more exhausted part of him never wanted to know, just wanted to go to sleep and wake up in a world where everything was fine, where every single kid that he’d met was safe and happy and far, far away from Black Earth Ranch. He closed his eyes, and thought of the way that Dean had stood guard over all of the kids, over his brother, the fierce protectiveness that had been written into every part of him. 

He tried not to think about how futile that protectiveness had turned out to be. 

The next time he opened his eyes it was to the sound of two voices arguing. He blinked once, twice. He was in a bed, though he didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He really hoped Morgan hadn’t carried him in. Speaking of– one of the voices definitely belonged to the other man, while the other, quieter but no less insistent voice, couldn’t belong to anyone other than JJ. It only took him another few seconds to realize they were arguing about him, and he sat up with a sigh, looking around until he caught sight of the hotel room door, just barely open, Morgan’s profile visible in the thin crack of light leaking through the gap. His movement was apparently enough to catch the other man’s attention, because he turned, a guilty look sliding over his face as he caught Reid’s eyes. 

“Spencer,” he said, and JJ’s head popped into view, following Morgan’s gaze to his face even as her hand moved forward to push the door slightly wider, giving him a much clearer sight to the other two agents. Reid shot them both a weak smile, which JJ returned. 

“Hey Spence,” she said, stepping forward and pushing the door open, Morgan following behind her. “How are you feeling?” He shrugged. 

“Better,” he said. “How long was I out?” 

“Almost ten hours,” she said, and he felt his eyes widen. 

“ _Ten_?” he repeated. 

“You had a long day there, buddy,” Morgan said, putting a hand out, not quite far enough to actually touch his shoulder, his hand hovering just above the fabric of his shirt before he pulled it back. “You could keep sleeping.” 

“Or,” JJ said with a pointed look at Morgan, “you could come with us to see Emily?” 

“That one,” Reid said, already pushing the blankets off his legs. He blinked down at his pantless legs, the stripped boxers and t-shirt that were the only things on him, and hoped that Morgan hadn’t had to undress him either. 

“Your bag is over there,” Morgan nodded towards the desk, always good at spotting a losing fight before it even happened. “We’ll wait in the hallway.” 

Reid dressed quickly, carelessly, feeling an increasing sense of urgency to see Emily that grew with every minute he spent awake. He needed to make sure that Emily was ok – to see it for himself. She had said she was, but Reid knew she was just as likely to hide the worst of it from him, to try and spare him the energy of worrying about something he couldn’t fix. 

Morgan led them down to the front of the hotel, the same big black SUV waiting for them. He hesitated outside, then climbed in when JJ let him know that Rossi and Hotch were already at the hospital. He winced slightly as he settled into the front seat next to Morgan, JJ sliding into the seat behind him. His entire body was stiff from too long spent sitting on concrete followed by too long spent asleep. It wasn’t anything compared to what had been done to Emily though, and he felt a brief, useless pang of guilt at the thought. 

The drive to the hospital was quiet. 

Rossi and Hotch were in the waiting room when they arrived, Rossi slumped in a chair while Hotch stood looking out a window, as sharp and still as he always was. They both turned as the three of them entered the room. They exchanged quiet greetings, Rossi and Hotch both asking Reid if he was ok, Rossi asking if he was _sure_ he was ok, Reid waving both of them off with a question:

“How is she?” he asked. Rossi and Hotch glanced at each other, making the breath catch in his throat for one long, horrible second before Hotch finally spoke. 

“She’s going to be fine. She had some internal bleeding, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to need surgery. We’re just waiting for a doctor to give us a full update, and for her to wake up.” Hotch said with a small smile, glancing at each of his team members in turn. Reid couldn’t describe the feeling of relief that washed through him, still tempered as it was with worry and a sick sort of vindication – he _knew_ she was lying about how injured she was. He sat down in one of the low, hard chairs and let that relief swell to fill his entire body, erasing at least some of the horrors of the previous few days. _She’s ok_ , he repeated to himself, staring at the blank wall across from him. _She’s fine_. The others followed his example, everyone except for Hotch finding a seat and settling in to wait. The familiar sounds of announcements, shoes squeaking off tiles, the chatter and carefully controlled chaos of a hospital were the only noises in the room, the five of them content to just sit with the weight of everything that had happened, what could have happened. 

“Agent Hotchner?” Reid looked up to see a petite woman in a doctor’s coat standing before them, eyes flicking from agent to agent, searching for the one in charge. Hotch’s spine went impossibly straighter as he greeted the petite woman, who looked up at him with a well-practiced, painfully neutral expression. 

“How is she?” he asked, apparently past his limits for being polite. The doctor didn’t even blink. 

“She’s going to be fine,” she said, repeating Hotch’s earlier words back to him. “She’s got quite the bump on her head but no signs of concussion. A couple of cracked ribs, a lot of bruising. The internal bleeding is due to blunt force trauma to her liver and spleen. It’s relatively minor, but we’d like to keep her here for at least another day for monitoring. The worst of it was the injuries on her arm, but those had already been taken care of before she got here.” 

“What do you mean?” Hotch asked. The doctor looked up at him, a faint look of confusion on her face as she glanced from him to the other agents. 

“I mean… Agent Prentiss had already received treatment from a field medic at the scene. All of her injuries had already received sutures. Which, to be honest, is impressive, just considering how little time passed between us being given the heads up that we might be receiving patients from the…” she gestured vaguely towards all of them, “...and her arrival here.” 

“She didn’t reci–” Hotch started, but Reid interrupted him. 

“It wasn’t a field medic,” he said, and everyone turned to look at him. “It was a teenager, a fourteen year-old, one of the residents at the ranch. He did the stitches.” The doctor’s eyes went round with surprise, something that Reid suspected didn’t happen often. 

“A kid did them?” she asked. “Wow, um, ok, well in that case we’ll keep an extra careful look out for signs of infection but… it seemed competent. It would’ve done more harm than good to take them out at this point.” She looked at Hotch, as if she expected him to argue, to insist that Emily receive medical care from a proper doctor. He didn’t. Reid couldn’t help but think back to how calm Dean had been stitching Emily’s arm, how assured he’d been. Reid had thought at the time that Dean had done it before, but from the sounds of it, he’d had enough practice to be as good as any medical professional. The same unsettled feeling twisted through him again. 

“Was there anything else?” Hotch asked, interrupting Reid’s thoughts. 

“No,” the doctor said, seeming to come back to herself. “No, nothing. You can see her now, if you’d like. She just woke up.” Hotch nodded, and she led them back the way she had come, around the corner and down a long hallway before finally stopping outside one of the rooms. Hotch paused to speak to her a moment longer but Rossi just opened the door, impatient, and the other agents immediately followed after.

“Hey guys.” Emily’s voice drew their attention to her, lying in the hospital bed, propped up slightly by the pillows piled under her. The circles under her eyes were so dark they almost appeared to be just part of the bruising maring her face, her entire arm now rebandaged with fresh white gauze. Reid scanned over what little of her body he could see that wasn’t covered in sheets, but other than those injuries she looked fine, even if the smile she shot their way was slightly strained around the edges. 

"How are you feeling?" JJ asked as they circled her bed. Emily gave them another shaky smile.

"Ok," she said. "A bit like I got tied to a chair and tortured, but other than that…" she trailed off, looking from face to face at the crowd gathered around her bed. Everyone looked back at her, their faces serious. "No? C'mon guys, I thought it was funny." Rossi and Morgan both shook their heads. 

"What did they do to you?" JJ asked.

"We don't need to talk about this right now," Hotch's gravelly voice came from behind them as he finally entered the room. "We should let Prentiss rest."

"No, it's fine," Emily said immediately. "I want to… I need to try and make sense of what happened." She met Reid's eyes. "Because it doesn't make sense," she said, a hint of a question in her eyes. Reid nodded his head in agreement. It didn't make sense, start to finish; what the group believed, what had brought them together, what they'd done to Emily, what they'd done to the kids– 

"Have they finished searching the ranch?" Emily interrupted his thoughts, brave enough to ask the question he'd been avoiding, putting off asking, even though he already knew, in his gut, what they'd found. He thought about the way Micah had comforted his brother, the bravery on Huong’s face, Gabby’s tears, the care with which Dean had cradled the baby, and tried to prepare for what he was about to hear.

"They've finished," Hotch was saying. He hesitated, and Reid knew, he kne– "They didn't find anyone."

"What?" Emily asked at almost the same time as Reid. They exchanged a look, before looking back at their boss. "What do you mean, they didn't find anyone?" 

"When they finally managed to break through the door in the basement of the chapel, there was no one there. It took another hour before they found the tunnel." Reid's heart leaped, even as his mind raced to capture all the implications of what Hotch was telling them. 

"So they're alive," he said, and Hotch cast a look his way. 

"We don't have any proof of that, but yes, most likely. The tunnel ended in an abandoned barn two properties over. There were fresh tire tracks, but the owner claims not to know anything about it, says she didn’t even know the tunnel existed." Morgan made a noise, and Hotch nodded. "Unlikely," he agreed, "but that's her story, and she's sticking to it for now." Reid let himself sag in relief for just a second. They were _alive_ , no collection of small bodies in a basement to add to his nightmares. He carefully didn't think about the fact that alive didn't necessarily mean safe, that they were still with the Pastor, with John. For now, alive was enough.

"What happened?" Emily asked. "From your perspective I mean. How did this even happen? Why did the police show up?" JJ made a face.

"They lied to me," she said. 

"Some politician, trying to ensure his re-election," Rossi added. "Didn't want to spoil the planned weapons raid by letting us scoop their victory." 

"Fuck," Emily said, her hands clenching into fists in her blankets. 

"We found out about it from the news," Morgan said. "Some local reporter, determined to get as many people killed as possible or something. He tipped off the Pastor." Emily shook her head. 

"They were ready, when the police came," JJ said. "They had barricaded everyone in, though the place was already basically set up for a seige."

"We noticed that when we arrived," Reid said. "They started shooting?" JJ shook her head. 

"The police did, and then they returned fire. But…" she trailed off, and Morgan picked up the thread. 

"It was weird," he said. "They hit a couple of the cops but they didn't kill anyone."

"What?" Reid asked. "How?"

"They were shooting rock salt," Morgan said, confusion clear in his voice. Reid frowned, adding that to the long list of strangeness surrounding the residents of the ranch. 

"What ended the shootout then?" Reid asked. "If no one was hurt." 

"They didn't realize how superficial the damage was until they got to the hospital," Hotch said. 

"And it wasn't like them shooting at them was getting anywhere. They didn't think they hit even a single person," JJ added. She looked between Emily and Reid as both of them shook their heads, no.

“Well, maybe,” Reid said just as Rossi opened his mouth to speak again. “John already had blood on his shirt, when they came and took you away.” Emily looked started, like she hadn’t had any memory of that. 

“We didn’t see any other evidence of injury though,” she said, speaking slowly. “So if it was one of them…”

“It probably wasn’t that serious,” Reid finished. 

"We tried negotiating with them," Rossi said. "Tried to convince them to send out a couple of the kids as a sign of good faith."

"They wouldn't," Reid said, certain th–

"They did," Rossi said, shooting Reid a curious look. "A baby. One of them carried her out halfway to the fence in a carrier, left her there and let Morgan come in and pick her up. She's in the pediatric ward being checked out but…" He looked over at JJ, who nodded. 

"Last time I talked to the doctor he said she was totally fine. Bit of weird scarring on her back, like a dog or something tried to take a bite out of her, but that was already well on its way to being totally healed." Reid frowned. 

"They said they weren't sure if they were going to keep her," Reid said suddenly, turning to look at Emily. 

“What?” Emily asked. “When did they say that?” 

“When you were… Dean told me. One of the kids,” he clarified to the team before looking back at Emily. “He said that they weren’t sure if anyone there was going to keep her.” He paused for a second before speaking again, more to himself than anyone else in the room. "They must have decided not to," he said. "I wonder why?" But no one had an answer for him. 

"What do you mean, they weren't sure if they were going to keep her?" Morgan asked instead. 

"Dean said they'd found her, or, that someone named Bobby had," Reid said, verbally making scare quotes around 'found'. "Who knows what happened to her real family."

"So she's an orphan," Hotch said, and Reid shrugged. 

"That would be my guess," he said. "Dean didn't say it outright but based on other thing they'd said, the way Dean talked around why she was with them…" he trailed off, and there was a moment of silence as they all thought about the baby somewhere else in the building, alone and nameless, utterly abandoned by the world. 

"What else happened?" Reid asked. "Who did you talk to, when you were negotiating?" 

"Mostly that Pastor, Ian. He was very insistent that they weren't doing anything wrong, that it wasn't what we thought." Reid nodded.

"He said the same thing to us," he said. "But…" he glanced towards Emily, who grimaced in return. 

"There was a man named John that we talked to once instead though," Rossi added, and Reid and Emily's gaze snapped to him. He shifted back slightly, surprised at the intense looks his co-workers were levelling at him. 

"What did he say?" Emily asked, not waiting for an answer before continuing to speak. "What did you think about him?"

"He wasn't half as polite as the Pastor, that's for sure," Rossi said dryly. "Told me to go fuck myself." 

"Anything else?" Emily asked. Rossi made a strange face.

"The Pastor had brought up God a couple of times, so I tried that angle with John…" Rossi paused, cleared his throat. "He told me I shouldn't worry about God, God wasn't here. He said I should worry about him." Reid nodded. That sounded like the man. 

“It wouldn’t have worked anyways,” he said, “he wasn’t a believer.” 

“What?” Morgan asked, all of them staring at him. “What was he doing there if he wasn’t a believer?” Reid shrugged, then frowned. 

“He believes in… whatever it is that the rest of them believe. But Sam, his younger son, he told me that John doesn’t believe in God, not the way the Pastor does.” 

“That doesn’t make sense,” JJ said, which really just summed up the whole thing. Reid shrugged. 

“What made you finally come in?” he asked. 

“We were planning to anyway,” Rossi said. “The negotiating stalled out after they released the baby and it became obvious they weren’t going to send anyone else out. And then they stopped answering our calls…” 

“They’d left,” Emily said, and Rossi shrugged. 

“That seems to line up with the timeline,” he confirmed. “So we went in, found the two of you tied up in the chapel and no sign of anyone else. Personal effects were all gone too, no clothes or toys or anything like that left.” Emily raised an eyebrow, but it was Reid who spoke. 

“Nothing?” he asked, and Rossi shook his head. “They’ve done this before,” Reid said, “maybe not for real, but they must have practiced evacuating, to do it so quickly and completely…” The team sat with that thought in silence for a long moment. 

“What about you?” Morgan finally asked. “What happened in there?” Emily and Reid exchanged a look. 

“It was pretty normal at first,” Reid started. “The Pastor seemed very friendly, welcoming, took us to talk to the kids without any issue. We didn’t really get the chance to talk much though before the police came. There’s a panic room under the school, they locked us and the kids in there.” Hotch nodded. 

“They found it when they were searching the whole ranch,” he confirmed. “The photos from it…” 

“It was covered in occult symbols,” Reid confirmed. “Not all Christian though.”

“So they weren’t a Christian cult?” Morgan asked. Reid shook his head slowly. 

“I don’t think they were a religious group at all,” he said. 

“I agree,” Emily said, drawing everyone’s eyes back to her. “I’ve been thinking about it, trying to figure out how it all connects back to religion, especially with non-believers being welcomed into the group and I… I think it just doesn’t matter.” 

“So if it’s not religion, what brought them all together?” Rossi asked. “Were they some type of survivalists?” Reid and Emily exchanged a look. 

“I think I got a better sense of what they believe in,” Emily said. “The things they said when they… when I was separated from Reid.”

“What did they say?” JJ asked. 

“They were testing me,” Emily said. “It wasn’t torture, not really. It was… trials, to see if I was human.” There was a long, horrible moment of silence. 

“To see if you were human?” JJ asked hesitantly. Emily nodded, looking back at Reid. 

“They thought I was a demon, at first,” she said. “One of the kids told the adults that he thought that because I didn’t cross the devil’s trap painted on the floor in the panic room. And the adults – John and the Pastor – believed him. Then, when I passed that test, they kept on trying, trying to see if I was some other creature. They mentioned… they mentioned werewolves, vampires, shtriga, jinn…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “There were other things too, some of them I hadn’t even heard of. I don’t know…” 

“John’s sons both talked about it,” Reid said. “Sam asked me if I’d ever seen a monster, and Dean told both of us that we’d never seen real evil.” 

“This is the same Sam that told you John wasn’t a believer?” JJ asked. Reid nodded. 

“And the same Dean that told us that the baby didn’t have a name. And did Emily’s stitches.” 

“Jesus,” JJ said. “How old were these kids?”

“Sam is 10, Dean is 14,” Reid said. JJ shook her head, in something like disbelief, or sadness. 

“So they’re some sort of what, supernatural cult? That believes that there’s monsters, real monsters out there?” Morgan interrupted, voice incredulous as he brought them back to the main point of discussion. 

“That is… quite the shared delusion,” Hotch said, speaking slowly. “For so many people to buy into it…” 

“Do you know how many people were there?” Reid asked. “I couldn’t get a good sense of it. Seven kids, and at least nine adults that I saw.” 

“No clear count,” Hotch said. “The police were estimating twelve or fourteen adults, but we don’t know for sure. A lot of people, for such an extreme belief.” 

“Is it necessarily that extreme?” JJ asked. “It’s far outside of what we’ve seen, but believing in actual monsters isn’t necessarily that extreme.” 

“But it wasn’t just belief,” Rossi said. “They tortured Emily because of it. They don’t just believe they exist, they believe they’ve encountered them before.” 

“I think they’ve killed people before,” Emily said. “I don’t know for sure, but the way they were with me… they’ve done it before, more than once. And probably not everyone passed their tests.” Hotch nodded. 

“They’re going to be searching the ranch for graves,” he confirmed. “With the weapons that they found, and the blood on the floor in the chapel… I think they’ll find them.” 

“So we’ve got a cult of delusional killers, who believe in monsters, who are willing to murder people because of that belief, and they’re in the wind,” Rossi said. 

“And they’ve got kids with them,” JJ said. “Kids that they’re raising to believe the same as them.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t already started introducing the kids to it,” Reid admitted. “John’s sons in particular…” he glanced at Emily, who nodded, sharing his analysis. 

“Dean for sure,” she said. “That kid…” she shook her head. “He never even had a chance,” she said, voice soft and tinged with grief. 

_None of them did,_ Reid thought, and let himself feel that same sense of grief. 

No one else spoke.

_Don't we all look back in longing, those of us who had happy childhoods? Because the greatest loss we ever know is not the loss of family or place or money, it is the loss of innocence. There is forever a hollow place in our hearts once we realize that darkness rings the campfire._

_Carolyn Hart_


End file.
